A Change in the Stars
by ArwenGreenEyes
Summary: Complete! Arryn finds adventure, romance and the occasional peril as she learns the ways of the weyr and what it's like for those who don't Impress gold, and for those who break rules never meant to be broken.
1. Chapter 1

The Weyrwoman stood on sands of Benden Hatching Grounds, barely noticing the scorching heat that rose up in waves beneath her boot-clad feet. Her whole attention was focused on the great golden dragon before her, and the eggs half-buried in the warm sand. The queen was the largest Benden had ever seen, her graceful proportions magnificent in their sheer magnitude. But despite the large clutch of sizeable eggs nestled carefully about her body, the queen's color seemed dull, her great wedge-shaped head lowered and her tail still, not twitching restlessly as it usually did.

_Narenth_, said the Weyrwoman. _Narenth, my love, look at me._

With great reluctance and an enormous amount of effort, the queen dragon looked at her rider, her eyes spinning grey and a soft, sad blue.

_There are almost fifty, _the woman said, sending waves of pride and love toward her dragon, her Narenth.

_But no queen_, Narenth replied softly. _My daughters are all green._

"Are you sure, dearest?" murmured the woman aloud, stroking the great head just below one whirling eye. "I cannot see any colors on these yet. And some of the newest are large enough…"

_ No,_ the dragon said. _I know._ She crooned softly as her rider's shoulders slumped. The movement was almost imperceptible, and the woman was trying to shield her dragon from her disappointment and sadness, but they both felt it nonetheless. _I am sorry,_ Narenth said in a pleading tone, bunting her rider in the chest softly. _I am so sorry, Linnara-mine._

"Oh, it's not your fault, dearest!" Linnara cried, throwing her arms about her dragon's neck. "You're magnificent, forty-eight in a clutch, that's even larger than your last."

_But Benden needs a queen. Another young queen. _

"You are young," Linnara said defensively. "And you will clutch again."

_Benden needs a queen,_ Narenth repeated again. Linnara sighed and rested her forehead against her dragon's neck. She noticed that her feet were beginning to burn, but ignored it. However, Narenth sensed it and with a huff of warm air swept her rider up onto her foreleg. Linnara made herself comfortable and looked over her dragon's eggs once again. They were a spectacular size, they really were…she could just imagine the size of the bronze that would come from the egg just by Narenth's tail….and the dragonets from Narenth's last clutch were the best Benden had seen in years. Young I'rath's bronze Emarth was as large as a full-grown green, and not yet a full Turn old. Thinking this over, Linnara felt a warm glow of pride in her lovely queen. Despite the absence of a golden egg, the clutch was enough to prove that Narenth would leave her mark upon Benden for Turns to come, just like her ancestor the great Ramoth. Linnara remembered when they had measured Narenth and declared her to be a hand's length longer than the golden legend. "You are simply lovely," she murmured, beginning to doze. Caring for a clutching dragon was strenuous and stressful, not to mention the fact that M'ran had been fussing over her constantly, worried that Narenth's hasty second rising would take too great a toll on her. People always underestimated her. In sharp contrast to her dragon's prodigious size, she was so slender that everyone tended to forget that she was taller than some of the male dragonriders. _Males can be silly like that , _Narenth agreed amicably through her half-doze. _Orinth has been ridiculously annoying in the past week._

Linnara smiled through a stifled yawn. M'ran's bronze Orinth was certainly a force to be reckoned with in the sky fighting Thread, but when it came to Narenth he was as dumb as a moonstruck wherry, especially when mysterious works such as clutching were occurring. Narenth stirred. _What is it, love_? Linnara asked, almost asleep. She could feel her dragon reaching out, talking to someone…probably a bronzerider, maybe M'ran. Who knew. Narenth had always been adept at handling the social aspect of her status, mediating disputes between her bronzes, talking strategy with her browns, socializing girlishly with her greens and trading hunting tips with her blues. The Weyr loved her, no doubt—Benden's dragons were certainly the most loyal to their queen. But the annoying problem of that golden egg was beginning to irk a few, though it hadn't reached the point where it was openly discussed, especially around any bronzeriders. She smirked when she thought of what M'ran and Orinth would do to someone caught badmouthing their queen…

"How long, do you think, dearest? Until they hatch?" she asked lazily.

_A week more. Perhaps longer, perhaps shorter. They will hatch when they are ready,_ replied Narenth with her usual laconic tone. _Garlith has returned with two more candidates. And Plenneth,_ she added, naming a feisty green that was her particular companion. She cocked her head slightly. _Plenneth says to tell you that they have brought back a girl. She thinks we should see if one of my daughters is like Path_.

"Not a bad idea," agreed Linnara, ignoring the twinge of sadness that ignited in her stomach at the mention of the girl candidate. _What would it be like,_ she wondered, _to stand out on the sands and not be circled eagerly around a golden egg…to look at all the boys Impressing and simply standing, not focusing on the queen that could be yours…_

_Stop thinking about it like that,_ Narenth said with a hint of annoyance in her voice. _Greens are worth no less than any other color. My daughters will all be strong and fierce. _

_And beautiful, _Linnara agreed, hastening to calm the irritated queen. _I am sorry, love, I meant no insult, you know that. It's just that I couldn't imagine life without you…and to think if I'd been told I was to try to Impress a green rather than you… _

_I am me, _Narenth said simply. _That is why you think of it like that. I understand. Just like Plenneth's rider would balk if it was suggested he should have Impressed a bronze or brown or blue. I am me. _

_Yes,_ Linnara agreed, _and you are wonderful. _She shook off a jaw-cracking yawn, blinking wearily.

_Sleep,_ Narenth said, rumbling low in her chest.

_You should…too…_Linnara was fighting to keep her eyes open.

_I am watching over my children. _

_All right, love…_ Linnara sent a last thought of affection towards Narenth and then gave herself up to sleep.

Arryn awoke to the excited screeching of the watch-wher. She could hear it rattling its chain about in the courtyard—visitors. Strangers, by the frenzied sound of it. She began to slide out of bed, suppressing a shiver as the cool morning air enveloped her bare legs. The wher's gabbling reached a new intensity. She paused—she'd never quite heard that pitch before, not even when the most important dignitaries arrived. Then the bottom dropped out of her stomach as she heard the clear brazen bugle of a dragon.

_A real dragon! Here in Ruatha!_ Her mind raced as she flew about the room, pulling on a long-sleeved dress and leggings and well-worn but respectable boots. Just before flying out the door, she considered herself in the mirror and hurredly twisted her hair up into a knot at the back of her head.

She arrived breathlessly in the courtyard and promptly gaped in wonder at the sight of the dragon towering over the knot of men and women gathered near the main gates. The dragon was a magnificent, glowing green, its eyes whirling emerald as it inspected the growing crowd. The watch-wher was gibbering in fear. Without a second thought she reached out and it instantly calmed, retreating into its dark den. When she released her concentration, she gave a little gasp, finding herself locked in a gaze with the green dragon, which was staring at her intently. Her body shook with equal parts fear and excitement as the dragon took three steps toward her, enough to silence the crowd of onlookers and hopeful young people. The dragon's rider, a tall man with chestnut hair, ended his conversation politely and turned to his dragon. _What is it, Plenneth?_

Arryn started. She heard the voice faintly, garbled as if through water, but she heard it, and immediately she blushed, feeling as though she was eavesdropping on the most private of conversations.

_ I felt this one when we landed, _the dragon—Plenneth—replied. The dragon's voice was stronger in her head, almost clear—feminine, Arryn realized, with a hint of sauciness. She hadn't known that greens were female; everyone knew about golds, but she'd assumed greens were just the smallest dragons. Plenneth cocked her head bemusedly.

_Bigger is not better,_ boomed the dragon's voice in her head, so loud her ears rang. _And if I were a male I would be immeasurably sillier and immensely less sensible, so you should be thankful I'm not. A male would probably be very annoyed at you right now, _the dragon lowered her head so that it was scant feet away from Arryn's face, _for being so rude._

"I—I'm sorry," stammered Arryn, looking at her feet shamefacedly. "I—didn't know."

"Didn't know what?" The dragonrider placed a hand on his green's neck and considered her.

Arryn hesitated. She knew what was happening; she'd grown up with stories of Lessa—she was from Ruatha, after all, and a distant descendant of the famous Weyrwoman. Should she tell the dragonrider? As soon as she asked herself the question she knew the answer and she thought she would be sick as she opened her mouth to answer him. Her voice came out as little more than a whisper. "I didn't know I could hear dragons."

The rider looked at Plenneth. _That true, love?_

_Of course,_ Plenneth replied, giving her rider an affectionate bunt. _It is good you told him, _she addressed Arryn with a hint of pride in her voice. _You are a brave little one._ Arryn flushed with pleasure, too tongue-tied even to give her thanks.

"What's all this?"

Arryn turned to see her uncle emerge from the hold, his eyes still bleary from sleep. He stopped when he saw the dragon and his face slowly colored. Arryn cringed. Her uncle was well-known throughout the surrounding Holdings for his antipathy toward dragon-riders. She braced herself.

"What's all this?" Yenar repeated louder, his face growing redder with every passing moment of silence. The dragon-rider considered him as he had considered Arryn, this time with a cold, impassive air. Finally the rider stepped forward and broke the deathly quiet.

"I am H'rath, rider of green Plenneth," he said in way of introduction, and sketched a stiff bow with one shoulder. Arryn almost gasped: her uncle should be bowing to the dragon-rider, not the opposite. Her face burned in shame.

"And who gave you permission to come to my Hold, rider?" Yenar said, his voice just short of a sneer. Arryn could feel her muscles tightening with every word he spoke.

"I am on Search, Holder," the rider said with controlled courtesy. Arryn could feel him talking to Plenneth, but she was too upset to focus on his words.

"I do not give you permission to take any of my people back to your cursed Weyr," spat Yenar, not bothering to hide his loathing anymore. "I have already lost too much to you." Plenneth rumbled a warning.

"I do not need your permission, Holder," replied H'rath. Arryn could feel the cold fury in his voice, and Plenneth's eyes spun red—a dangerous color. But Yenar took no notice.

"You are not welcome here, dragon-rider. Go back to your filthy caves," growled Yenar.

"Uncle!" Arryn cried in shock and dismay; she felt Plenneth's anger and it was making her dizzy. "Show some respect, please!" she half-scolded, half-pleaded. Yenar turned to her, livid.

"Do not speak of matters you do not understand," he hissed, "and do not presume to give me orders, girl."

"Dragon-riders deserve respect!" she said vehemently.

"Go inside—now!" her uncle commanded, breathing heavily. She was conscious of H'rath watching, and knew her behavior wasn't ladylike in the least but she was beyond the point of caring.

"No," she said. "I will not." She felt a warm wave of support from Plenneth and stood straighter.

"Disobedient child!" growled Yenar. "You are a shame to my house! Now go inside!"

Arryn trembled. Despite her anger and the surge of shock at his behavior toward the dragon-rider, Yenar was still her uncle, and she barely knew the man standing beside her. She remembered when the first Threadfall of the Pass had fallen—the great uproar that had erupted! Just as the dragon-riders had warned, some folk had forgotten about the dangers of Thread; it had been countless Turns since the Red Star had last passed near enough to Pern for its deadly spores to seek the earth. There was the lore and the legend, yes, especially here in Ruatha of Lessa and her great Ramoth. As a small girl Arryn had taken a broomstick and pretended it to be Ramoth, and she Lessa, despite the fact that her wild chestnut hair and bright, cat-like green eyes immediately disqualified her from looking the part. Uncle Yenar had laughed with her father and mother when he found out…she had taken that broomstick everywhere with her, for almost half a Turn, and many a night she could be found out on the roof watching for dragons on Search. They seldom Searched Holds, in the time before thread…the riders mostly preferred their own kin, Weyrbred, for the fewer numbers of dragons that hatched in such Threadless Turns. Then, when she was six—just barely old enough to be kept from running wild in the fields and set to learn her letters—it had Fallen. No-one was prepared, not even her father, who was the most particular and fastidious Holder when it came to the safety of those on his land. Many had been out in the fields…and the dragons had suffered terrible losses, blinking in and out—she had watched with horrified fascination from the window as villagers fled to the shelter of the stone Holding, bleeding and burned from Threadscores. The next day she had found out that her parents were dead. Yenar took her as his own, being childless himself—of course, that had changed, but he had doted upon her until the years had hardened him into a bitter, cynical man. The dragon-riders were honored and lauded again, but he remained silent when others praised them, remembering his brother. Now Arryn trembled under his gaze, willing herself to be strong, but as memories of that day flooded her she became less and less certain of her stance.

"All right, Uncle," she said softly, and brushed past him, lowering her head. She heard Plenneth trying to say something but she kept her mind blank as new sand, resisting the urge to run back to the green dragon and her rider. The watch-wher creeled at her. She paused to lay a hand on its ugly head and it clacked with pleasure. Then it looked at her with a gleam in its eye she had never seen before. _Gogo_, squawked a voice in her head. _Oh, not again,_ she thought. She was making too many discoveries about herself for one day. But she calmed herself and said patiently, _Why should I go?_

_Gold_, muttered the watch-wher, beginning to lose focus on the conversation. Arryn frowned.

_What?_ she asked. But the watch-wher rattled its chain and snuffled in its straw for a morsel. She sighed. Plenneth was still at the back of her mind, persisting. _Fine, _she thought, letting the channel of communication open.

_ Why are you going, little one? Are you afraid? _

_ I am not afraid, _ Arryn replied indignantly. _This is my home. _

_ But you are not truly happy here. _

Arryn didn't know how to respond, so she said, _My uncle is good to me. I owe my life to him. _

_ But you do not owe him your dreams as well._

H'rath's voice came from behind her. "No, Holder, you shame your own house. Your commands have no authority over me and you show me disrespect when I come with all courtesy. I will leave, as you wish. However, with all courtesy I ask to bring the young woman to Benden."

She stopped, knowing he had gestured to her.

"My niece!" spluttered Yenar, sounding shaken. "You would dare steal my own flesh and blood from me—!"

Arryn turned to watch the scene, the dragon-rider focused intently on her uncle. "No, I will not take her against your wishes. But I ask you. She has the makings of a fine dragon-rider."

Plenneth bugled her approval and the watch-wher shrieked. Arryn felt a small stab of sadness for the ugly creature and sent it her warmest affections, but couldn't help glowing at H'rath's remark. Yenar seemed speechless.

"Why do you not ask her what it is she wants?" H'rath asked almost gently.

To her surprise, her uncle turned to her, all the anger drained from him. He looked like a different man. "Arryn?" He drew a shuddering breath. "Do you want to go—with this man?"

"I…" Arryn was overwhelmed. Leave Ruatha? Leave her room and her weaving, her bow and her mare and the thousand little things that made her life _hers_? It was an enormous question that left her head pounding. "I don't know," she said finally. She turned to the rider. "If I don't…become a rider, will I be able to come back?"

He nodded. "If you don't Impress, you may choose to stay at the Weyr until another Hatching, or you may choose to return to Ruatha."

She took a large breath. "May I speak to my uncle in private?"

"Of course. Plenneth and I will be here when you return." He bowed to her, making her blush, and turned to his dragon.

She followed Yenar into the closest room—it happened to be a storage room. _So this is the place where I make the most important decision of my life, _she thought wryly. "Uncle," she started, but he held up a hand.

"I am sorry for the way I treated you. And the way I spoke to our visitor," he added almost grudgingly. "But you must understand…"

"I know," Arryn said. "And I do understand, Uncle."

"So, do you want to become one of them?"

"Please don't make it sound as if I'm joining the enemy," she admonished.

He sighed. "It is simply habit, I think. The boy is courteous enough."

"Yes," she agreed. After a moment of thought, she said, "I think I need to do this. Just to see if..."

"If you are good enough for a dragon?" her uncle smiled humorlessly.

She shrugged. "You know it has been my dream. I will be homesick, and I will miss you, but this is something I must do." She gave a little laugh. "After all, I'm a distant descendant of Lessa, yes?"

"Through your mother's side," Yenar acknowledged with a shake of his head. "That does not mean it will hurt any less when you do not become a rider."

She sighed. "Doubt me all you please, Uncle. I have made my decision."

He nodded curtly. "Very well. Go get your things."

Arryn nodded and gathered a small pack, changing into clothes more suitable for traveling. She took only her most precious possessions, supposing that the Weyr would supply her with anything else she should need. She looked around the room one last time before shutting the door behind her.

Arryn avoided her acquaintances as she made her way down to the courtyard again; this would be easier without any silly emotional farewells. H'rath and Plenneth were waiting.

"I am coming with you," she said to H'rath, and he grinned broadly. Her stomach hurt as she realized the impact of her decision, yet there was an excitement mixed into her nervousness as well.

"Are you ready?" the rider asked.

She nodded, unable to say more, suddenly feeling very sick and scared. Yenar was not a horrible man—harsh sometimes, yes, but life changed people, hardened them through no fault of their own. And Ruatha was her home.

_Do not fear, little one_, said Plenneth reassuringly. _We will take care of you_.

"Thank you," she whispered, to both of them, feeling tears prick the back of her eyes. _Not here, not now, _she told herself. Her head was still swimming but she registered the unrestricted joy that welled up within her as H'rath lifted her onto Plenneth's neck. She knew without a doubt that this was _her._

_You are truly a rider-to-be, little one,_ came Plenneth's amused voice.

H'rath mounted behind her. "I apologize for the improper position—usually candidates ride in the back, but we can't have you fainting and falling off _between_, eh?"

She allowed herself a weak smile despite the fact that her uncle looked ready to murder someone—namely, H'rath. "I suppose not."

_Hold on_, warned Plenneth. Arryn jolted as the dragon leapt off the ground and with a mighty sweep of her wings bore them aloft. She watched as the courtyard and the figures within it dwindled until she could blot them out with a finger. She had time to look out over the hills of Ruatha one last time before Plenna bugled and they blinked into the breathtaking cold of _between_.

_Between _was terrifying—utterly and completely, cold and alone—she screamed and desperately reached out for something, anything to tell herself she was alive—and Plenneth was there, soothing her: _I am here, I am here, do not be afraid, little one, it will be over soon. _

They burst out into sunlight, the land below them awash with the colors of sunset. Plenneth descended in lazy circles as Arryn took in the magnificent sight below her, mouth hanging open in sheer awe. "The dragons," she whispered. "There's so many of them!" Blue and green and brown and shimmering bronze, dipping through the sky and sunning on the rocks and splashing in the lake, coming and going, bugling and trumpeting and crooning. A green sunning on the rocks lifted her head and a brown being scrubbed by his rider in the lake turned toward them. She heard them greet Plenneth, and then, miraculously, they greeted her as well! H'rath's amused chuckle rumbled through her. Plenneth turned her head and fixed her with an eye whirling in excitement.

_Be polite, little one,_ was all she said before Arryn was aware of a great golden presence—her entire body gave a great shiver. "Cold?" asked H'rath, but she couldn't answer him. All her attention was focused on that magnificent presence.

_Welcome to Benden Weyr, small one,_ said the great golden voice.

_Th-thank you—_What does one call a queen dragon? she panicked mentally—_thank you, Great One. _She felt the golden voice shift, and thought she had said something wrong, her heart plummeting. Then she realized the queen was amused, and she was hearing the dragon equivalent of laughter.

_ You will come meet my rider soon,_ the queen said. _Plenneth has told me you are very special. _

She felt herself blush and couldn't reply. The queen paused and seemed distracted.

_I must see to my children. Until we meet, small one._

And she was gone. Arryn relaxed. She realized H'rath had been holding his breath. He let it out in a low whistle as they neared the ground. "Shards," he said, "you start at the top, don't you? Talking to Narenth herself. You'll be the toast of the Weyr soon enough."

She shook her head, feeling another blush coming on. What was it with her today? Then she tensed as she saw the ground approach with alarming speed, but Plenneth landed daintily with a flourish of her wings.

_I am a good flyer, little one,_ she said smugly.

Arryn laughed and accepted H'rath's offered hand. He lifted her down from Plenneth's neck.

"Come on now," he said, "let's get you settled." He paused. "By Faranth's egg, I don't believe I know your name." He gave a little laugh of incredulity.

"Arryn," she smiled shakily, overwhelmed by the splendor and awe of the Weyr.

"Well, Arryn, you'll be riding soon enough. Come on, now."

With one last glance at the dragons wheeling in the sunset, Arryn followed H'rath into the Weyr.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the slow update, I hope it's worth it! And pleeease review! Please? Oh and one more thing, I've departed from cannon a little, and this story takes place in an alternate future, one in which Thread exists long after Lessa's time. (Please don't hate me for it!) All right, enjoy the chapter! Oh, and REVIEW!**

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M'ran nodded respectfully to Narenth as he slowly approached the great golden queen, who was curled protectively around her clutch. Orlith cautiously asked the queen's permission before entering the Hatching Ground, knowing full well her edginess. Narenth shifted as M'ran neared, raising her head. He stopped and waited for Linnara to soothe her dragon. Linnara turned to him, brushing a flyaway strand of golden hair away from her face. Her hair was a constant annoyance to her; she didn't understand why the other riders protested when she suggested cutting it short. Somehow, she supposed, that made her less feminine than a goldrider ought to be; and somehow that made her want to take a knife to her waist-length tresses herself. She considered M'ran. He was a good Weyrleader, and a good weyrmate, taller than her and stockily built—not heavy, but solid, muscular. Comforting, she thought, more than anything. That was what she needed right now, comfort—but she couldn't show the weyr a chink in her armor and plant seeds of doubt about her capabilities as Weyrwoman…or about Narenth's capabilities as queen of Benden Weyr. She almost shuddered at the thought of her Narenth facing accusations and sneers. Her chest tightened.

"Are you all right?" M'ran asked quietly. Orlith anxiously crooned to Narenth.

After a moment, Linnara shook her head. "No. Not really." She sighed and let him fold her into his strong arms. Settling her cheek against his broad chest, she murmured, "I really don't know what to do. What to say. How to handle it all."

"How to handle what?" M'ran said. "The fact that Narenth has not yet laid a queen egg?"

Linnara winced as he put the delicate problem in such bold, bare terms. "Yes. That."

"Narenth is young still, and you are as well. " Linnara had to conceal a smile at his not-so-skillfully-concealed compliment. "But no person and no dragon on Pern can claim perfection."

Linnara sighed again, a frown creasing her forehead as she thought. "Do you remember when they measured Narenth, and declared her larger than even Ramoth?"

"Of course. All of us do."

"When that happened…I was so proud…and I thought that she was perfect. I still think she is perfect," Linnara said fiercely, her voice heavy with the tears welling behind her eyes. "And I can't…I don't know how to tell people that. I can't look them in the eye and it shames me." She looked up at him with bright eyes. "I don't love her any less, M'ran. I don't."

"You don't have to convince me," M'ran said gently, his grey eyes dark with emotion. "Linnara, you are a fine Weyrwoman, all that Benden could ask for, and we love you no less either."

Linnara sniffed and rested in M'ran's strong arms for a moment more, then pulled away and swiped at her eyes with one sleeve, looking irritated. "Well, I'm glad that's over with," she said.

M'ran shook his head. He would never figure her out. But then again, that was what kept him coming back…he shook himself as he began to slip into a daydream. No. He had a matter of importance to discuss, not with his Linnara, but with the Weyrwoman of Benden. As she turned away, he said, "We must talk."

She turned back to him, recognizing all too well the shift in his voice—he was no longer M'ran, the man who tickled her in bed and detested _klah_; he was now M'ran the Weyrleader, the untouchable bronzerider with eyes of steel. Linnara felt the corresponding shift in herself as well, raising her chin. "Yes, Weyrleader?"

M'ran gave her a ghost of a smile before his face hardened and he continued. "The Southern weyrs have offered Benden a gold egg. Their senior queen Zareth and junior queen Shirath have both clutched, and D'ran has offered us the choice."

"What?" His words, delivered so calmly, unleashed a maelstrom of emotions within her. "D'ran has offered us a queen egg?" Her confusion abated and anger began to win over. "Why? Does he think Benden's queen is incapable?"

"Linnara," said M'ran, "this is a gesture of goodwill, I think."

"So that the Southern Weyrs can lord it over Benden," Linnara said bitterly.

"Benden will always be respected. But sometimes even the most venerated need a bit of help."

"You are insulting Narenth by even suggesting it."

"Linnara, think before you take offense at this. It is a genuine offer made out of friendship, and you know D'ran spent two Turns here, when he was traveling from Southern. He has nothing but reverence for Benden, and that is why he wants to perpetuate it."

"Have they the queens' permission?"

"The goldriders have consented, as long as they are able to meet the candidates before the Hatching. Zareth clutched later than Narenth, but Shirath at about the same time, so her queen egg will hatch at about the same time as these."

Linnara paused for a moment, then shook her head. "Transporting eggs _between_ is dangerous, if not downright foolhardy, and to do it with a golden egg shows a level of thoughtlessness that would provoke even the slowest dragonrider. " She paused again and cocked her head slightly. "What, dear?"

_I said,_ repeated Narenth patiently, _that taking a golden egg from another is like stealing. I will not allow it._

"Narenth says she won't allow it," Linnara relayed to M'ran.

"So Orinth tells me," he said darkly.

"She says it's like stealing. And I agree." She lifted her chin. "If this is not a problem, as you say it is not, because Narenth is young and will clutch again, then I see no reason to insist that we accept this offer. Not only would it undermine Narenth, it would undermine the whole Weyr."

"You know," M'ran said after a careful pause, "there are some who think that we should not be here, in Benden—that the weyr itself is outdated." Orinth swung his great bronze head around and looked at his rider reproachfully at this comment. "There's no shame in saying it. It's not like I said dragons are totally useless," he teased Orinth, swatting him across the nose. The great bronze huffed and promptly swung his tail into the back of M'ran's knees, sending him tumbling down onto the hot sands of the Hatching Ground.

_I swear, sometimes it seems like they're still weyrlings,_ commented Linnara to Narenth as M'ran struggled to regain his dignity, brushing sand out of his hair.

_Males will be males_, Narenth said complacently with that maternal tone she had developed over the past weeks. Linnara pulled a face at her dragon, then regained her composure.

_What do you think of M'ran's comment, dear heart? _ she asked.

_It is a question not easily answered,_ replied Narenth, nudging at one of her great eggs. _Benden is our home._

Linnara sensed reserve in the queen's voice. _But…? _she prompted.

_But perhaps Orinth's rider has a point,_ Narenth finished, and refused to say more despite the proddings of her rider. Linnara grudgingly gave up. She took the packet of food M'ran had brought her—it was a little squashed from being shoved into his vest. M'ran paid his respects to Narenth and left her with her thoughts. Leaning back against Narenth's foreleg, she chewed a piece of bread contemplatively. _What do you think about the girl H'rath and Plenneth brought back? _she asked without preamble. Narenth rumbled deep in her chest as she thought, shifting one of her eggs in the sand.

_She would make a good rider,_ the dragon offered at length.

Linnara hesitated. _A goldrider? _

_ Yes. She is not as special as some would say, but still, she has the right makings of a goldrider,_ Narenth replied.

_Not as special as some would say? What do you mean by that? _Linnara frowned and bit into a piece of dried wherry-meat. She felt Narenth give the mental equivalent of a shrug.

_ Some say she has no equal, that talking to all of us makes her unparalleled, _Narenth explained.

_Hold on, love, she can talk to all dragons? Like Lessa? Why didn't you tell me? _

_ Yes, but not as strong as Lessa…and I forgot to tell you, _ Narenth said rather sheepishly. Linnara chuckled.

_It's all right, love,_ she said, _I just want to meet her sooner now, that's all._

Narenth gave a very unqueenly _harrumph_ and said, _I am hungry. I will tell Orinth to watch the eggs while I go hunt. _

_ Mother wherry,_ teased Linnara, and Narenth sprayed her with sand as she pushed off from the ground and spread her great wings. After watching Narenth make her exit from the Hatching Grounds, Linnara finished her frugal meal and stretched, giving a contented sigh after her shoulder popped. She rotated it gingerly—old flying injuries did tend to linger. Even queen's riders were clumsy and uncoordinated sometimes, she smiled ruefully, remembering the errant flight she and Narenth had taken as weyrlings. She had sighted the Weyrwoman, Palura, striding out into the Bowl just as Narenth had veered in for a wobbly landing…and she had promptly fallen off with fright, having forgotten to tighten her leg-straps. She'd suffered no more than a dislocated shoulder and a bruised ego, but whenever things were particularly serious Narenth tended to send her the image of herself as a gangly sixteen-year old, spread-eagled on the ground and saucer-eyed with shock. It never failed to make her laugh at herself—if making her wince as well. She paused to touch one of the eggs. The hard shell was as warm as the cobblestones on a hot summer's day. It was comforting somehow. Leaning in closer, she examined the colors of the shell, the delicate creamy hues just starting to coalesce into color. _Bronze, _she thought. _Perhaps brown._ And the next was a green or a blue—there was a lovely cerulean tinge to the shell. A few of the eggs, the ones laid last, she supposed, were still a neutral, milky white, almost opalescent. _Time will tell,_ she thought, and then after a moment her mind turned to a hot bath and some real food. Grinning at herself, she exited the Hatching Grounds just as Orinth landed next to his mate's clutch. She nodded to him and he rumbled, his bronze hide glimmering with the heat of the sands.

"Here's where you'll be staying."

Arryn bobbed her head politely at the Candidate Master—or Mistress, she supposed, for the role was filled by a small, whip-thin woman with black hair, pulled tightly back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. But for all her looks, Ursina was not unkind. She had a lot of responsibilities, Arryn reasoned, playing hostess to all the young people eagerly awaiting the Hatching. H'rath had handed her over to Ursina moments after their landing at Benden, much to Arryn's chagrin. The green-rider had given her an encouraging grin and a pat on the back, saying, "We'll see more of you, I'm sure, Arryn," before placing one hand on Plenneth's neck and walking away with her toward the feeding-grounds. Arryn still felt very small and alone, a sensation that was new to her—everyone had always known her, in the Hold, and taken time to exchange a word or two. Now, people bustled past, moving with a purpose: drudges with platters and mugs and riders carrying equipment to be mended, children weaving between adults' legs, giggling as they chased one another; women gossiping on their way to the kitchens and men deep in political conversations. Ursina opened the door to the room and gestured inside. "Now," she said, "if you need anything, make sure you ask a drudge or another candidate before bothering me about it. Understand?"

"Yes," Arryn said, her voice coming out a squeak.

"Good," Ursina said briskly. She took Arryn by the shoulders and looked her over, taking her measure. "I'll send someone over with some proper clothes."

Arryn opened her mouth to ask what was wrong with the clothes she was wearing—she was rather fond of them—but Ursina spun her around and gave her a prod toward the open door. "Kitchen's open nearly all the time, but you can get real meals at dawn, noon and dusk. Behave yourself. Remember you are not a rider yet."

_Yet_, Arryn thought to herself resolutely as she stepped into her new room. There were three narrow beds, one against each wall, and next to each was a small, plain chest with drawers for clothes and personal effects—a far cry from her room back in Ruatha. She ruefully recalled her own bed and wardrobe…then shook herself, reminding herself why she was here, how she had treasured this dream for so long. The hope of becoming a dragon-rider had become a little dusty over the years as it had been put to the back of her mind, cornered there by concerns more pressing than childhood dreams. Now she breathed in the cool air of the weyr and smiled, feeling her heart lighten. Putting her pack down on the bed farthest from the door, in the corner of the room, she opened the drawers of the chest and was surprised to find that some effects had already been arranged neatly in the drawers. She was arranging her own things in one of the drawers when the door opened and she jumped in fright as something small and bronze whizzed about her head, chirruping and screeching.

"Wenth, come _back_ here!" came a voice—a male voice, she realized.

Wenth paused in his high-speed flying antics and considered obeying the voice, but chose instead to hover just in front of Arryn's face, blatantly inspecting her.

"Hello," she said shakily. The little bronze squawked and zoomed away with a great flapping of his wings. Apparently he met someone just outside the door because there was a storm of crooning and happy chirruping. Someone knocked politely.

"May I come in?" asked the same voice politely.

"Of course," she managed, swiping at her hair with one hand and hoping she looked halfway presentable. A young man taller than her and perhaps two or three Turns older entered the room. There was silence as they both took each other's measure: she noted his wher-hide vest, his black hair and dark, stormy grey eyes; he took in her wild chestnut curls and bright, inquisitive green eyes, and her appreciably slim figure. Finally he held out a hand.

"My name is Terren, son of Essa, rider of green Kelnoth, and I'lan, rider of brown Urlith."

She took his hand, refusing to let herself be intimidated. "My name is Arryn."

He raised his eyebrows. "Hold-bred?"

"Yes," she replied with a flash of her eyes. "Weyr-bred?" she retorted, knowing full well the answer. He smiled.

"Of course," he said. "Though not from here. I'm from Ista, but my father talked to M'ran—he's the Weyrleader here at Benden—and they're going to let me stand for the Hatching." He smiled disarmingly. It was plain he wanted to follow in his parents' footsteps.

"Well, I'm standing for the Hatching too," said Arryn.

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows again. "I would have thought you were a queen candidate, the way Wenth took to you."

"What do you mean, you _would_ have thought?" Arryn asked after a moment's pause. " I thought…"

"Oh." Terran suddenly looked very solemn. "Didn't they tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Terran winced. "Me and my big mouth. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be the one to tell you this. Forget I ever mentioned it." Arryn protested just as Wenth squawked reprovingly. "I'm sorry, I should let you get settled. It was a pleasure to meet you." He turned to go. Arryn started forward.

"Won't you tell me?" she asked. "I'm sorry, I'm new here, I just don't know what's going on at all, but H'rath, when he brought me in, he said I would make a good rider, and I really don't know what he meant if I'm not a candidate."

"Oh, I imagine you're a candidate all right," said Terran with false brightness. "It's just that you're not a gold candidate."

"Why not?" Arryn tried to repress the sinking feeling in her stomach. Her uncle had been right. She wasn't good enough.

Terran glanced about and then ducked his head conspiratorially as he said in a low voice, "Because there's no queen egg."

"What?" Arryn said sharply, making Wenth cringe. She hastily apologized to the little bronze. Terran looked genuinely sorry at her confusion.

"Narenth hasn't yet clutched a queen," he said quietly. "Not her last clutch, not this one neither."

"Why would they bring me here, then? Why was I Searched?" Arryn asked him.

He shrugged and looked genuinely empathetic as he said, "I suppose you're up for green. My mother's a green-rider. It en't so bad. At least you'll get to fight Thread and be useful instead of just flirting with the bronzes all day." He reached out as if to put a hand on her shoulder, then thought better of it and said instead, "I'll come back later and we can go to dinner together, all right? I'll introduce you to more of us."

"Us?"

"Candidates," Terran clarified. This time he did put his hand on her shoulder. "You're one of us, even though there's no golden egg."

Arryn could only nod. Wenth chirruped from Terran's shoulder as the young man turned to leave. The little bronze kept his eyes trained on her until they disappeared through the doorway. Arryn sat down numbly on the bed. Then she half-smiled, thinking, _If I'm shocked one more time today, it might just be the death of me._


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to all my lovely reviewers!! Just a forewarning, final exams are creeping up on me (eep!) so unfortunately Pern might have to wait for a little while. But rest assured, I will be working feverishly in my spare moments...and to those who want desperately to read about the Hatching, sorry, this isn't your chapter (yet!!) (gulps) I promise it will be soon--I just couldn't resist a little character development! Oh, and I haven't got around to editing Ch 2, so for all those who pointed out that Terran's firelizard should be named something other than Wenth...erm, yes. Oops. Fixed that in this chap--he's now Hint. Yay. As always, reviews are much appreciated. If you review enough I might even do a little dance. Also, I enjoy a little speculation as to Arryn's fate...feel free to post your thoughts on that too. Well, enjoy!**

That night, as well as for a few days after, Terran introduced Arryn to many more hopeful riders-to-be. She found that most were weyr-bred, that she was in the minority, but it didn't bother her much. The foreign splendors of the weyr fascinated her to no end; she made a habit of rising before dawn and clambering out onto the terrace above the Bowl, watching the sun come up, glimmering, over the horizon, and glance off the hides of dragons as they rose for their morning training, or to hunt, or to bathe. Sometimes one or two greeted her as they soared above her perch. It seemed the dragons weren't much surprised by her ability, though she tried not to use it much. It felt like cheating, to talk to dragons when she wasn't a proper rider yet. And she was sure that listening in was a terrible breach of decorum. The endless machinations of the weyr seemed fathomless—there seemed protocol for everything, as the Candidate Master drilled them endlessly on the etiquette for the Hatching: what they were to think, what they were to wear, what they were to do if they Impressed, what they were to do if they didn't…There was only one other girl, Lira, whom she had met the first night—being the only other girl, she was of course Arryn's roommate. She was tall and thin and was so quiet that most times she just floated around aimlessly, like a leaf on the wind. Now, for some reason, Lira felt like talking, after they had been there almost a week. She informed Arryn with a sad quirk of her lips that this would be her last Hatching—if she didn't Impress, it would be the end of her chances to become a rider.

"That's really the only reason they're letting me stand without a gold egg on the sands," Lira said. "I'm not a good enough Candidate to stand at another weyr…I've failed five times already." She looked Arryn over, plainly judging her age. "This can't be _your_ last Hatching. You can't be more than fifteen."

"I'm seventeen," Arryn countered, thinking it rather odd that Lira chose exactly this moment to start taking a personal interest in her. They hadn't exchanged more than two or three sentences in a day yet. "And this is my first Hatching."

They were walking in a little knot down towards the kitchens, in a little-used passageway that Lira knew ("I've been here for almost six Turns," she said mournfully, "so I should very well know better ways to get about than you.")

"Oh, so you're hold-bred," surmised another candidate. Arryn turned to face the speaker. It was a lad about her own age, arms folded across his chest. He looked at her disdainfully and brushed his blonde hair out of his eyes before continuing. "I didn't really think that we _needed_ to Search holds anymore," he sniffed. "After all, hold-breds tend to Impress the _greens_ and the _blues_. We might as well just put all the weyr-bred in, for all the trouble hold-breds cause."

"Why do you assume that just because this is my first Hatching, that must mean I'm hold-bred?" Arryn said, keeping her voice carefully cool. "Plenty weyr-bred don't become riders, if I'm not mistaken."

The youth huffed out a derisive breath. "In my opinion, any weyr-bred who can't Impress shouldn't be able to live here anymore…just clogs things up." He smiled nastily. "So does bringing in little girls from farms."

"Petar," said Terran, a soft warning in his calm voice. Hint growled deep in his little chest. "This is Arryn, of _Ruatha_."

"My name is Petar, son of G'ben, rider of _bronze_ Yelanth," said the youth with a smirk. Arryn didn't miss the emphasis he placed on the color of his father's dragon. She saw Terran tense, and remembered that his mother was a green-rider.

_Well, this is far more creative then saying someone's mother is a wherry or somesuch, _she thought.

"Petar, let it go," another candidate sighed. Sholen, Arryn remembered. He was slim and dark-haired with blue eyes that were alternately dreamy and sharp, able to pierce anyone through with a single glance.

Petar sneered. "Oh, look at Sholen, protecting the pretty little hold-bred." His eyes bored venomously into Arryn, who felt a flush creeping up the back of her neck. "Look how she's blushing. Isn't it _cute_." He took a few steps closer to Arryn, leering as he pinned her to the wall. There was a moment when his body pressed suggestively against hers, before Sholen firmly pulled him away. Terran started forward, his eyes black with anger, but Lira put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

Arryn felt Plenneth in the back of her mind—the green must have felt her anger. She couldn't control herself enough to let the communication open, but it was a comfort to know she was there. Hint, too, chirruped and turned toward her, eyes whirling.

"Don't know why you're here, besides being hold-bred," continued Petar blithely, brushing at his shoulder where Sholen had gripped him. "No gold egg, after all."

"Petar," Terran said again, this time the warning plain in his voice. His fists clenched and Hint hissed. "I would choose my next words carefully, if I were you."

"_You _will have to be a green-rider," Petar said to Arryn, mouth twisting suggestively. His eyes raked her body. "And one day my dragon will catch your green. D'you know what that means, hold-bred? It means I'll _have _you. All because that dumb sand-lizard can't clutch a—"

Terran leapt forward and tackled him. He landed a hard first punch but then Petar fought back and it turned into an earnest fight. Hint shrieked and flew in frantic circles before landing on Arryn's shoulder, his little claws gouging her skin through her shirt, and hiding his head in her hair.

"Stop it!" Arryn yelled. Petar, although younger and shorter, was a good deal heavier than Terran and managed to pin him down, locking his elbow about Terran's neck in a chokehold. Sholen tried to pry Petar off, but got a bloody nose for his efforts. Lira just stared. "Don't just stand there, go get help!" Arryn shoved at Lira and the older girl finally snapped out of her trance and started forward, racing down the passageway. Terran elbowed Petar in the gut and the younger boy grunted and loosened his grip, allowing Terran to slip free. Though he was pale and his nose was bleeding freely, Terran started again for Petar. "For goodness' sakes!" shouted Arryn. "_Stop it!"_ She started forward, bracing herself for a blow as she reached for Terran's shoulder. Hint scrabbled around the back of her shoulder, wrapping his tail around her neck so he didn't fall off as he made little sounds of fear and distress. Before she could even touch Terran, one of Petar's flailing legs caught her square in the shin and she stumbled back. Terran paused and turned his head at her cry of pain—and Petar took advantage of his distraction, kicking him hard in the ribs. Terran doubled over and Petar once again locked his arm around his neck, squeezing mercilessly. Hint bit Arryn's ear, hard, as Terran struggled. The little bronze launched himself from her shoulder and flew at Petar, his talons extended. Petar yelled as the fire-lizard raked the back of his neck and clamped down viciously on his ear. He swatted at the little bronze, swearing. Arryn took the opportunity to lunge in and pry his arm away from Terran's throat. Petar hit her blindly, an open-palmed smack that stung her cheek.

"_Enough!"_

All three candidates froze and even Hint dared not move at the authoritative bellow. Then Arryn slowly stood, pulling up Terran, who wobbled a bit on his feet. Hint sheepishly unlatched his talons from Petar and meekly landed on Terran's shoulder, hiding beneath his hair. Ignoring the swell of distaste that rose in her stomach, Arryn turned, one hand still steadying Terran, and offered Petar her hand. He knocked it away, glaring and wiping his lip as he stood. Arryn turned back to the dragon-rider before them and cringed. He wore the shoulder knots of a bronze-rider. _Speak of the devil_, she thought, remembering the cause of the argument. She resisted the urge to rub her ear—she could feel a little blood trickling down over the lobe, and it tickled horribly. Lira stood behind the bronze-rider, her shoulders drawn in, arms crossed over her chest, looking at them unhappily.

"What is the meaning of this?" said the bronze-rider, his voice now calm but still cold as steel.

Terran refused to lower his eyes, but he remained silent. Arryn looked on, at a loss—should she explain or remain silent? Petar ended her wonderings.

"The hold-bred started it," he said, his voice holding traces of a whine. Arryn felt her neck prickle in disgust.

"Oh?" The bronze-rider raised one eyebrow. "Since you are so quick to offer answers, perhaps you could explain fully,young…?"

"Petar," muttered the youth, beginning to flush.

"Petar? Would you be the son of G'ben?" The rider's voice held an undercurrent of caustic anger.

"Yes." Petar raised his head, and there was something horrible in his eyes. Arryn suppressed a shudder. Terran swayed and she quickly supported him. The motion did not go unnoticed by the bronze-rider.

"I am K'lin, rider of bronze Pertanth," he introduced himself formally.

"Terran, son of I'lan," Terran said, the pride still evident in his voice despite his bloody nose and swollen lip.

"Arryn of Ruatha." She didn't miss the sharp look K'lin gave her. He made as if to say something, but paused and his eyes unfocused. She felt him talking to Pertanth, but shrank away from the contact. The last thing she needed right now was to eavesdrop on something else she wasn't supposed to know.

"Take Terran to the infirmary, Arryn," said K'lin. "Petar, you will come with me."

"But—he—"

"Not another word," said the rider severely. He turned back to Arryn and Terran, eyes flashing. "I do not know the rules they enforce at Ista, young Terran, but rest assured, this is Benden Weyr, and you have not heard the last of me." With his hand firmly grasping Petar's shoulder, K'lin turned and walked away from them. They were all silent for a good while, until Terran reached up to wipe at his nose.

"I'm sorry," Lira said in a small voice, "I didn't even think to fetch a blue-rider…"

"Or someone who wasn't a rider at all," finished Arryn grimly. She was beginning to understand weyr politics very well. Lira seemed to shrink even further.

"I just don't think sometimes," she said.

"Well," Arryn rejoined. "Let's get you to the infirmary."

"I don't need to go to the infirmary," said Terran.

"But K'lin said—"

"Just because he's a bronze-rider doesn't mean we have to follow his orders," Terran said hotly.

Arryn stepped away and shook her head at him. "Did you honestly just say that? After you were nearly suffocated for defending blues and greens?"

"It wasn't that," Terran said, reaching out for the wall.

"And besides, it doesn't matter what color dragon he rides, he's still a _rider_, Terran," Sholen contributed. Arryn started. She'd nearly forgotten about him—he seemed to have faded into the backround until the rider left. _A talent I'd certainly like to possess, _she thought drily. "We should still listen to him. And we're lucky he didn't say anything about preventing us from standing for the Hatching," finished Sholen.

"Can they do that?" Lira asked shakily, her eyes wide and round as saucers.

"Not to you, Lira," Arryn said, trying to be comforting.

"Yes," Sholen said at the same time. They looked at each other and there was an awkward silence. At any other time, Terran would have cracked a joke or Arryn would have contributed some wry comment, but this seemed different. The danger was real.

"Well, if we can't stand then that means that Petar won't get his bloody bronze he's always yammering on about," Arryn said lightly, but her stomach plummeted and her heart came up into her throat. No-one smiled. "Fine, then, keep your sour faces. Let's go." She started back down the passageway. The three just stared at her. Hint gave a tentative chirp, rubbing his head against Terran's cheek. "Well? What's wrong now?"

"I'm not very hungry anymore," said Sholen. Lira nodded vigorously and Terran just stood silently.

Arryn sighed melodramatically. "And I think they're having my favorite tonight."

"You haven't been here long enough to have a favorite," quipped Lira. Arryn gave her a surprised smile, pleased that her roommate was finally peeking her head out of her shell, so to speak. Lira seemed surprised at herself as well. Sholen shrugged.

"Well, what should we do now?" he asked.

"Get cleaned up," replied Arryn promptly. "And maybe do our homework for class tomorrow—I don't know, just a thought!" she protested as Lira made a face at her and Terran groaned.

"I've learned the same sharding stuff over and over," complained Lira, relishing her newfound voice, "and I never seem to remember any of it…why do you think that is?"

"I have no idea," Sholen answered innocently for all of them.

"Come on then," Terran said, limping away down the passageway. Hint took off and flew lazy circles above their heads as they made their way back to their rooms, hoping to avoid any more excitement that night.


	4. Chapter 4

**So...I lied. I am a dirty dirty liar. I said the next chapter would take a while but I swear, this is just flying together, pardon the pun...so I thought I'd overdose you all. (Evil chuckle.) At least now you won't hunt me down and lynch me for a slow update...That being said, thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed! You have no idea how much that makes my day! (Yes, I am an attention whore. I revel in it. But I think Arryn likes it more...) And...drumroll...the HATCHING is here! Not all of it, mind you--can't get greedy--but most!! So enjoy. And REVIEW, whether it's one word...two...though I'd like it to be more than that...love...hate...hopefully love...alright, alright, I 'll let you see what happens to Arryn & co, yikes. Enjoy!**

"Is she still standing for this Hatching?" K'lin asked his Weyrleader. M'ran wasn't much older than him—in fact, his Pertanth was from the clutch right after M'ran's Orinth. Unlike some bronze-riders' relationships, theirs was not strained; K'lin had no taste for leadership, at least not with Linnara being offered up as the prize. There were rumors that Pertanth had purposely dropped out of the mating flight, the last one—he wasn't as large as Orinth but he was the fastest flyer between here and Northern Reaches. But K'lin didn't feel as though he was ready for such a commitment—he liked to flirt and dance and drink, and being Weyrleader would certainly curtail his after-hours activities, most especially during Threadfall.

"Which girl are we talking about here?" M'ran considered his words carefully.

K'lin snorted. "Oh, I definitely meant the wherry-headed one that fetched _me_ when she could very well have fetched a drudge to break up the fight with no ill consequences."

M'ran considered his wingleader, unresponsive to the light sarcasm in K'lin's voice. "I assumed you were here to talk about the other girl."

"Of course," agreed K'lin, realizing once again that M'ran had missed the jest. No matter. "Arryn of Ruatha, if I remember correctly."

M'ran nodded. "Linnara mentioned something to me about her…said she had to meet her."

K'lin frowned. "Why?"

They both knew they were skirting around perhaps the biggest issue that had to deal with this girl. M'ran sighed. "Because there's no gold in the clutch, K'lin."

"I know that," K'lin said, brushing the matter aside. "But why such a personal interest?"

M'ran shrugged. "Maybe Linnara feels sorry for her. Maybe she thinks she sees a bit of herself in her…who knows. Women are sentimental sometimes. It's beyond me, really."

"Hmm. But you're letting her stand for green?" K'lin rubbed his jaw speculatively.

"Why not? It might boost morale, having another female rider," M'ran said. K'lin was sharp enough to catch the implication.

"You think it wise, to let her stand just because of that?" he asked. "Just so the browns and bronzes, not to mention their riders, can get a little more worked up over mating flights?"

M'ran rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I didn't quite mean it like that, K'lin."

"But others could take it that way. Especially the girl," K'lin pointed out. "She's not just a dull hold-bred being trotted in for show, M'ran. H'rath and Plenneth Searched her. Their last candidates Impressed two bronzes , a brown and a blue."

"Impressive," murmured M'ran. K'lin hid a chuckle at his Weyrleader's unintentional pun. M'ran took no notice, apparently deep in thought. "I will speak to Linnara about the matter." He glanced at his wingleader again. "What are your thoughts on the matter? Do you think she should not stand merely because of the scuffle?"

K'lin shook his head, a wry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "No. Trust me, she and her friends will not be getting into any more trouble any time soon, if they have any sense. I pulled the 'high-and-mighty-bronze-rider' act on them. Gave them quite a heavy-handed lecture, if I do say so myself."

M'ran smiled. "You'll be a Weyrlingmaster yet, K'lin." Then his face darkened. "But only after this Pass is over."

K'lin glanced over the last comment. Instead he continued in his previous vein. "While I don't think the girl and the Ista boy are troublemakers, there is the question of the youth Petar."

"G'ben's son?" M'ran asked, frowning.

"Yes," affirmed K'lin. "He has a real temper. From what I could sort out from Pertanth and the Ista boy's firelizard, Petar was hell-bent on killing someone. I think he would have, too, if not for the Ruatha girl's good sense."

M'ran shook his head. "It's always these candidates that worry me, K'lin. I'm afraid that if I refuse to allow a candidate to stand after they've been Searched, we'll have a suicide and a very unhappy weyr on our hands."

K'lin knew what M'ran meant: not a human suicide, a dragon suicide. If a hatchling didn't find a candidate that suited it, it could search the stands and the crowd, satisfy itself with a less compatible lifemate—or suicide. Blink _between_, never to return. There had been a suicide at the Hatching after he had Impressed Pertanth—a little brown, no less, creeling and crying as it stumbled about looking for its chosen one. He remembered the ache in his chest as he had watched the little dragonet wander, lost, around the sands, willing it to find someone, anyone, holding onto Pertanth tightly with his mind, as if his dragon, too, would be lost should the little brown end himself. He had closed his eyes, knowing it was coming—the dragons were already crooning low sounds of sorrow, their great heads lowering—and then the shriek of the queen as the little brown winked out. He never wanted to repeat those breathless moments watching the single dragonet reel about in loneliness and agony. "I know," he said to M'ran. "But you have to consider…which is more dangerous, a suicide and an unhappy weyr—something that just happens sometimes—or that boy on a dragon?"

M'ran sighed heavily. "A question not easily answered, K'lin." Then he straightened his shoulders and raised his chest, as if remembering the fact that as Weyrleader of Benden, he was not to show weakness or uncertainty. "But I will talk to Linnara as soon as opportunity permits, and I shall ask her advice on the matter of G'ben's son as well."

K'lin nodded. "As you say, Weyrleader."

"Oh, and K'lin?"  
"Yes?" The bronze-rider turned before reaching the doorway, his hand on the frame.

"Have one of your riders keep an eye on the Ruatha girl. Make sure she isn't the cause of any more fights than need be," M'ran instructed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Of course," said K'lin. "As you say, Weyrleader. My respects to Orinth."

M'ran gave him a nod and with that, K'lin left, his mind whirling with possibilities.

"Stay still, you lily-livered wherry," admonished Arryn as she tried to apply a salve to Sholen's nose. He squirmed beneath her hands.

"It's really not that bad," he said nasally. She tapped his nose lightly and he winced, then rolled his eyes as she gave him a look that said she had proven her point.

"It's just this cut that's pretty bad," said Arryn. "Or at least by _hold_ standards. I don't know about you _weyr-bred_," she continued, adopting a whiny falsetto tone. Sholen sniggered but then broke off into a horrible face.

"Ouch," he said. "Tha 'urt."

Arryn only grinned at him devilishly as she pressed the cloth to his nose.

"I hope you're not playing healer on my bed," said Lira, coming into the room.

"That smells delicious," Arryn commented, turning away from Sholen for a second. Lira brandished a cloth bag and opened it, revealing a few loaves of sweetbread and some turnovers—meat, Arryn guessed from the savory aroma.

"You're avoiding the question," Lira remonstrated.

"You didn't ask a question," Arryn pointed out, avoiding Lira's playful swat. "Who are you and what have you done with Lira?" she laughed.

"Oh, I just realized that there's no use in moping around," Lira replied enigmatically. Arryn paused and looked at her keenly, and then shrugged.

"Maybe you do have some sense after all," she teased lightly. "There, Sholen, you should be done."

"Finally," muttered Sholen, grimacing as he gingerly assessed her work.

"Well, if you hadn't moved about so much I would have been done a lot sooner," Arryn said. "Your turn, Terran." She patted the bare mattress of the spare bed. She'd managed to finagle some supplies from the healers, giving candid little comments without fully revealing the situation—but enough to make one of the apprentices slip her a little package of salves and bandages.

Terran was definitely the worst for wear out of the three of them that had taken part in the fight. "How's your leg?" he asked as he sat down gingerly.

Arryn proudly displayed the star-burst of black, purple and green on her shin. "Couldn't be better," she said cheerily. "How's your…well, let's see…your face…and your ribs…and…well, how are you in general?"

"Couldn't be better," he grinned, then winced as she applied a green paste to a cut on his cheekbone. Arryn paused as a strange light entered his eyes—he seemed to tense under her touch.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked in concern. "I'm sorry, I've not much experience—none, really, the apprentice healer just told me what to put where and…" She trailed off and shrugged.

"No, you're not hurting me," he said, glancing away.

Arryn frowned. "Good." She continued applying the various herbs and salves. "Do you need numbweed on anything?"

"No, it's fine."

Lira plopped down on her bed and opened the sack of food, laying out the contents on her bedside table with the utmost precision. She motioned to the bread with a flourish like a merchant showing off her goods. "Anyone hungry?"

"Ravenous," replied Arryn, taking a piece of sweetbread in one hand while still applying medicine with the other. Sholen tore into a meat turnover, making low sounds of appreciation. Lira tore an end off one of the sweetbread loaves. She munched contemplatively.

"How many more days d'you think we'll have to wait?" she asked.

"For what?" asked Sholen.

"The Hatching, you wherry!" Lira clarified.

"I think five," Sholen answered.  
"Seven," said Terran.

"Four," said Lira.

"Well….I think…two," answered Arryn. "Maybe one. Plenneth says…" She froze guiltily when she realized her slip of tongue. "I mean, I heard about the weyr that it should be soon. Soon."

"Plenneth?" Sholen asked. "That has to be a dragon's name. When do you go about talking to dragons?"

"And more importantly," said Terran, "_how_ do you go about talking to dragons?"

Arryn colored under Terran's dark gaze and looked at Sholen, only to be pierced through by those blue eyes of his. "I…"

"Can you talk to dragons?" demanded Lira, whose voice was oddly choked.

"I—well—that is—"

"Can you?" Lira demanded, voice cracking. Arryn looked at her and started—tears stood on the older girl's lower lashes.

"Well, any rider can talk to his dragon," she rationalized, and immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say. Sholen refused to look at her, a tear rolled down Lira's cheek, and Terran's gaze bored through her. The silence in the room stretched to the breaking point. "Yes," she finally burst out. "I can talk to—to dragons, all right?"

"All of them?" asked Terran softly.

"Mostly," said Arryn in a small voice. Her face was very hot and she looked down at her knees, toying with the jar of salve in her hands.

"'Mostly!' Hah!" Sholen shook his head. Arryn cringed at his derisive comment.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Terran said almost accusingly.

She threw back her head and glared at them with blazing eyes. "Why should I have to tell everyone I meet?" she demanded, her newfound anger crackling in her voice. Hint burrowed under the bedsheets by Lira's hand, clearly discomforted by the confrontation. "It's not as if it makes a difference!"

"A _difference_? If there's one thing in a weyr that makes a sharding difference, it's how riders handle dragons!" Terran exclaimed. "If one rider could talk to all the dragons in a weyr—like Lessa—then, by Faranth's egg, that does make a bloody difference!"

Arryn stood. "I didn't want you to treat me differently."

"We wouldn't have!" protested Sholen, but under Arryn's probing, fiery gaze he admitted, "Well, I suppose we might've, but—shards, think of what you can _do_!"

"It's not what you think," snapped Arryn. "It's no fun at all—it's like knowing you're _eavesdropping_ all the time! And everyone expects more—even though I'm not a bloody rider yet!" She could feel tears rising behind her own eyes.

"But you will be." Lira said it softly, looking down at her clasped hands, another tear slowly making its way down her cheek.

"And who's to say you won't be?" demanded Arryn. Most of her anger left her at the sight of Lira's sad face. "Don't let anyone ever tell you you won't be," she said fiercely. Lira shrugged. Hint popped his head out from under the sheet and rubbed it against Lira's hand comfortingly, churring. A hint of a smile tugged at Lira's mouth as she watched the little bronze do his best to charm away her tears.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Arryn said quietly.

"I can understand why you didn't."

She looked at Terran, utterly shocked by his warm smile and show of support. "What?"

"I can understand. It's hard enough you're not a queen candidate…" He paused to think, brow knitted in concentration. "It's a wonder they're still letting you stand for this hatching."

Arryn groaned. "Please, let's not go here again."

"I think I know why," said Sholen. The others turned to him and waited for his explanation. "Well, think about it. If Arryn Impresses a fighting dragon, never mind the color, she could be a link between all the dragons fighting Thread. All of them. No more relaying communications from rider to dragon then through another dragon to his rider."

Terran nodded. "Even though that's pretty fast, riders get injured or even killed because of the time lapse between when the information is sent and when they receive it."

They all mulled this over. Then Arryn said, "Well, interesting as all this speculation is, I think we should all get some rest." She paused and tilted her head. "Oh, and be ready tomorrow around noon," she grinned.

"Why?" chorused Sholen and Lira.

"Because that's when Plenneth says the Hatching will be."

Lira let out a squeal of excitement and Sholen smiled. Arryn sighed in relief at the restored good spirits of her friends. Only—Terran still gazed at her with that odd look, that light in his eyes. But then he smiled and the mood was broken. She finished applying salves and then bid the boys good night. When the door closed, Lira turned to her and said, "Well, you'd better Impress a green."

"Why?" Arryn asked, perplexed. "Iora from Fort Impressed a brown just last Turn."

"No," Lira said, shaking her head and giggling, "you'd better get a green. "

"I don't understand what you're talking about!"

"Because," Lira said, grinning, "then Terran's dragon can fly your green and he can stop looking like a moon-struck wherry around you!"

Arryn smacked Lira as they changed into their night-shifts but couldn't help laughing. It felt so good to have a friend to laugh with…not that she hadn't had friends at Ruatha, but she'd always been somewhat detached. She shook her head as she slid into bed and Lira extinguished the glows.

"Think happy thoughts," she murmured through a yawn. "Tomorrow's the Hatching."

"My last, and your first," said Lira quietly.

"_Happy_ thoughts," Arryn reprimanded. She sat up in bed. "Try again," she commanded.

Lira sighed. "I _will _Impress tomorrow, I _will _Impress tomorrow…"

"Better. What color?"

"Mmm…dunno…_any _color…would be fabulous…"

Both girls drifted off to sleep with smiles on their lips, thinking of the day to come.

"It's so stuffy in here," Arryn whispered to Lira. She pulled at the neck of their white Candidate gowns. "And these things are so ridiculous…I feel like I'm about to trip over myself any second…" She stopped talking as she realized the eyes of nearly all the sixty male candidates were upon her. Apparently boys didn't like to talk when they were stressed, as Terran and Sholen had demonstrated that morning at breakfast. And apparently they didn't like anyone else talking either, especially not the two _girls_ lurking in their midst. She made a face at Terran and decided to be quiet, even though she wanted to talk—_needed _to talk. _So talk to a dragon_, said some small part of her mind. _Not a bad idea_, she thought. She reached out for Plenneth, and found her on the ledges of the Hatching Grounds, humming deep in her throat.

_Hello. _

_ Hello, little one. You are nervous. _

_ Yes, _Arryn replied honestly. _I feel like I'm about to be sick. I don't think that will attract many dragonets. And this gown is hot and itchy. The boys are all staring at me. Or they were. I think it's because I was talking and boys don't like it when girls talk a lot, especially when everyone is nervous. _

_ You will be fine, little one. _She could sense the amusement in Plenneth's voice. _H'rath thinks you will make a very good rider. So does the Weyrwoman. _

_ They talk about me? _Arryn felt a spike of panic. What if she didn't Impress, after all? All their talk would be for nothing.

_Yes. Some say you will be a bronze-rider, the first of your kind. Others say brown or blue. Most think green…although I think H'rath would not mind if you Impressed a male dragon. I would not mind either, if he was strong and handsome._

_Eeew. Plenneth. Please, I'm trying not to throw up here. I don't need you to contribute to the problem._ Arryn made a face and Terran looked at her curiously but she took no notice.

_Sorry,_ apologized Plenneth. The humming grew louder and the candidates murmured. _ Ah, it is almost time. _

_ What do you think, Plenneth? _Arryn asked almost plaintively.

_I think that whatever dragon chooses you will be right,_ Plenneth said decisively. _Have faith, little one. _

And with that, Plenneth turned her full attention to the events unfolding before her on the hot sands of Benden Weyr's Hatching Grounds. Arryn shook herself as the other candidates began pressing forward. It was time to be led out onto the sands. Her stomach dropped to the soles of her feet as they formed a double line and filed quickly into the Hatching Ground.

The heat hit her like a physical blow. She paused for a moment, struggling to draw in a breath of the scorching air. The candidate behind her nudged her forward and she caught up hastily. The stands were full to bursting—men and women, dragon-riders and hold-folk and dragons and fire-lizards flitting about, all smears of vivid color to her heat-blurred eyes. Her feet were getting hot. And then—then there was Narenth, the great queen of Benden, one wing arched protectively over her clutch. Weyrwoman Linnara was a smudge against the glimmering gold hide of her dragon, calming the great queen, coaxing her, convincing her that the candidates should be allowed near the eggs. With a great rumble Narenth acquiesced and raised her wing, sweeping it back and creating a wind that passed over the sands, blasting the candidates with hot air. A few stumbled as they neared and formed an awkward half-circle around the eggs. _They're so big, _Arryn thought at once; then she told herself, _Well, of course they're big, the hatchlings will grow into _dragons _after all_! She thought of Sholen and Lira and Terran, and wished them luck—she couldn't see them in the knots of pale, anxious faces, her attention was too focused on the wildly rocking eggs. The humming of the dragons rose until the ground vibrated with the intensity of it. One of the eggs, a good-size one near Narenth's tail, fell on its side and split with a resounding crack. A nose poked out, followed by a wedge-shaped head, sticky and covered in bits of shell. The little brown tumbled out and reeled, regaining its balance and crying pitifully. She caught a bit of its cry: _Hungry! Someone—where? Hungry! Hurt! Need to find—_she shook her head, ridding herself of the contact and firmly shutting off that part of her mind. The little brown lurched forward, into a knot of boys, and there was a delighted shout. "Zureth! His name is Zureth!"

The first Impression had been made. The eggs began to hatch in earnest now, two or three rocking violently—one burst at the top and a blue slithered out. It tottered about for a moment before falling over, and a candidate tentatively started forward and righted it. Arryn saw the look of sheer joy on the boy's face as he yelled, "Mealth! Oh, I glad to have found you too, Mealth!"

Her chest ached. She wanted a part in that joy, in that ecstasy. With all her might, she concentrated on sending out waves of love and assurance toward the hatching eggs. The first bronze of the clutch made his appearance, tumbling nose over tail from his egg—and to Arryn's exuberance it was Terran that started forward, Terran that disentangled the wings of the little bronze and yelled in exultance, "His name is Ereth!" Hint zoomed in excited circles around the newly minted bronze-rider's head. Arryn turned her attention back to the eggs, her happiness welling up into her chest. She sent it all out toward the eggs. Another brown and two blues hatched, followed by a green and another, smaller bronze. But there were still many, many eggs left rocking on the sands. Arryn's feet were burning; she was sure she could smell the singed flesh, but she pushed down her discomfort. Three more dragonets found their life-partners—the boy just to her right Impressed a beautiful little blue, and further on to her left a boy stroked the head of a little brown in wonder. Then a little bronze stumbled in her direction. Her heart caught in her throat. Could this be…? It swung its head and creeled in hunger, searching, searching…It lifted its head as it saw her, and started forward, but then paused, and looked behind itself, as if looking for something. It was a very odd motion, very self-possessed for a dragonet. Arryn stepped forward, approached the little bronze and fell to her knees in front of it—she could feel the pull of its mind, wondered if this was Impression—only to have the dragonet turn away from her to another boy, who immediately cried out the bronze's name. Yastorth. That could have been her dragon. She could hear the rising swell of murmurs in the stands as fewer and fewer eggs were left. The new dragon-riders were being ushered off the sands…only a few left…she had failed. Yastorth…could have been…

_NO._

The voice _shoved_ itself into her mind. She looked up, into the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. No, she realized, that had not been Impression—_this _was, this fierce bliss, this all-encompassing joy.

_Yastorth would have taken you,_ her dragonet continued. _But you are MINE. I am Maventh, and I am _hungry.

"Maventh!" Arryn yelled, throwing her arms about the dragonet. She had done it! After all the years of empty dreaming, she was finally a dragon-rider.


	5. Chapter 5

**Well, well, here we are again, my dear readers! I hope you all have been enjoying the suspense...bwahah...and thank you for all the suggestions as to what color Maventh should be...you'll see that I made the decision to make her, well, not quite ordinary, let's say, but face it, Arryn isn't quite ordinary, either...A big shout-out to my faithful reviewers Voo Doo Weasel and paisley is a kind of patter--thanks for your great feedback, and thanks to everyone else who reviewed as well!! This is rather a short chapter but obviously very important--you get to see the fate of the Fantastic Four--did Lira get a dragon? What about Sholen? and did that "creep" Petar Impress?**

**Read on to find out!!**

**--Arwen, Over and out!--**

"Terran!" Arryn nearly bowled him over, throwing her arms about his neck. "Or should I say T'ran?" she asked, grinning impishly, her arms still about his neck.

Terran looked dumbfounded for a moment, then grinned at her. "I suppose so. Seems weird to hear it."

_HUNGRY. _

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearest, here," Arryn apologized, hastily grabbing another strip of meat from the table and handing it down to the dragonet sitting by her side. Maventh tore into it ravenously. T'ran looked over her shoulder and nearly jumped back.

"Shards!"

"What?" Arryn asked through the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She'd had many reactions like this in the minutes it had taken to get to the feeding-room. But she blinked innocently at T'ran and put one hand on Maventh's head.

"That's…I don't…wow," T'ran breathed. His hand reached for Ereth as well. The bronze dragonet made sounds of contentment, still tucking into his meat.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Arryn murmured. It wasn't really a question. She knew deep down that Maventh was the most beautiful dragon ever to have hatched from an egg…

"She's so…big," said T'ran. "She's almost as big as Ereth."

"Yes, she's a little monster," Arryn said fondly, her eyes shining as she stroked the green's eyeridge. Maventh squirmed in pleasure, pausing for a second to enjoy the scratching.

"And her coloring…" T'ran trailed off, leaning a bit closer. Maventh paused and looked up at him curiously, a string of meat dangling from her jaws. T'ran froze, glancing hesitantly at Arryn for approval. The new weyrlings weren't quite sure of the etiquette required when interacting with other riders and their dragons.

_Why is everyone staring at me so? _the little dragon asked.

_Because you're so beautiful,_ Arryn replied with a surge of love. Maventh basked in her affection and went back to her meat. "It's okay," she said to T'ran. "Ereth is big, too," she added appreciably. The bronze sized her up after hearing mention of his name.

"But look…is that _gold_ on Maventh?" T'ran was almost whispering, he was so fascinated. Arryn almost laughed at him.

"Yes, a bit," she said. A hint of gold glinted from the deep green of Maventh's folded wings, and a sprinkle dusted her nose. "Maventh told me she tried to change. Silly little wherry." She chuckled and gave her dragon a playful swat, which only earned her a look of annoyance. Clearly the green wanted to focus on her food. "Apparently things don't quite work like that, though. She said something like if I'd given her more time, she would have managed it…but I think she's gorgeous," she ended dreamily.

"Of course she is," said T'ran emphatically. He turned back to Ereth, fishing another dripping piece of meat out of the bucket on the table. Maventh accepted another piece from Arryn and apparently didn't think it was dead enough—she threw it into the air, pounced on it and shook it between her teeth, spraying everyone within a table-wide radius with blood. The other young riders took it in good humor. A few looked oddly at Maventh, but then they turned back to their new partners—all except two. Arryn looked up as a figure blocked the glow-light.

"Sholen!" she beamed. " Or…Sh'len?"

Sholen nodded happily, rubbing the head of the brown dragon by his side. "This is Kelath."

"Very nice to meet you, Kelath," Arryn said solemnly. The brown dragonet fixed her with a speculative eye.

_It is very nice to meet you as well, rider of Maventh_.

Arryn grinned in delight. "He's very precocious, Sh'len."

Sh'len laughed. They were all still giddy from Impression. "I know. Sounds like a sharding dictionary, doesn't he?" Kelath butted his knees. Then Sh'len glimpsed Maventh. His mouth opened in a silent 'Oh,' and his blue eyes sharpened, tracing the curves of Arryn's dragon. "Don't hit me, Arryn," he began slowly, "but by Faranth's egg, that is the hugest green I have ever seen."

Arryn only smiled. "She's going to be a handful, all right."

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Sh'len asked, his eyes mirroring the fascination that had been plastered across T'ran's face only moments before as he stroked his dragon's eyeridge. Arryn began to answer but she was interrupted by a slow, distasteful drawl.

"What's amazing is the fact that _you_ lot got chosen. Thought dragons were supposed to have better sense than that."

T'ran stood up so quickly he knocked over his chair. Sh'len was quickly by his side, a restraining hand on his arm. Ereth stopped eating and hissed; Maventh stretched out her full length, demonstrating her prodigious size. Arryn bristled at Petar's words but forced herself to remain seated and cool. No—not, Petar, P'tar, she realized with a sickening dread. A brown dragonet so dark in coloring it was almost black stood next to the youth.

"Well, what do we have here? You managed to snag one, eh?" P'tar sneered, crossing his arms over his chest as he blatantly examined Maventh, craning his neck.

"Yes, I _managed_ to Impress," Arryn replied calmly. Her cool seemed to exacerbate P'tar.

"Well," he smirked. Arryn raised one eyebrow delicately. "Grath was the sixth to hatch, and he chose me instantly."

"Isn't that lovely," Arryn remarked as he paused, measuring her reaction.

_You are angry,_ Maventh observed.

_Yes. I am very angry. _

_Why? _The dragonet asked.

_Because I don't like this boy. And he said something…something to upset me, _finished Arryn.

_Shall I bite him? _Maventh's tail twitched restlessly. _I can bite very hard, you know. _

_I'm sure you can, love, but I don't think that would be a very good idea, _Arryn said with a small smile.

"Oh, so you think it's funny_?" _asked P'tar.

"Sorry, I missed the joke," said Arryn. She saw T'ran clench his fists and told Ereth to calm him down. Though the dragons were only hours from having hatched, they showed a remarkable amount of common sense and self-control. As the bronze dragon talked to his rider, she saw the tension leave his arms. The other riders around them were beginning to realize what was going on—a few were watching openly. Arryn knew that none of them could afford to be caught in another fight.

"Have you seen Lira?" she asked Sh'len casually.

"Oh, the pathetic one who Impressed the scrawny little blue?" answered P'tar. "She was beside herself over the stupid thing—it's only a blue." His mouth twisted. "You two should make a pair—the runt and the _freak_."

There were audible gasps from a few of the spectators. Arryn stood slowly, trembling with the effort it took not to leap for P'tar's throat and bash the smug look off his hateful face. "P'tar," she said slowly. "This is supposed to be a happy day. I am glad you Impressed, and I have no wish to quarrel, so please, leave us alone."

He snorted. "You're glad I Impressed? I say, you should be thanking your stars that the queen who can't lay a gold laid a misfit instead, and you don't have to go back to your backwards little hold after all."

Arryn couldn't help but roll her eyes. Sh'len touched her arm. "Let's go find Lira," he suggested.

"Yes, let's," Arryn replied. She followed Sh'len as he made his way away from P'tar. T'ran followed, Ereth at his heels and Hint perched contentedly on his shoulder. The three new riders walked about the large chamber, glancing about and greeting the other weyrlings happily—it seemed everyone had a smile on their face. _Or at least most,_ amended Arryn, thinking in annoyance of P'tar. The inconsiderate prig seemed to place himself deliberately in her path, trying to stir up trouble. But then she sighted Lira, bent over a small blue dragonet, and all of her discontent at P'tar vanished.

"Lira!" she cried delightedly. The older girl looked up and Arryn saw fresh tear-trails down her glistening face—they were all grimy and sweaty from the Hatching Grounds, and Lira, like some others, still had sand gilding her skin.

"Arryn!" Lira made room for Arryn on the bench. "Shards, is she _yours_?" she asked, her eyes trained on Maventh.

"Just as much as he's yours," Arryn replied, motioning to the blue sprawled across Lira's legs.

"Yes, he is mine." Lira's voice took on a dreamlike quality. "His name is Baerth."

"Baerth." Arryn nodded to the little dragon. "This is Maventh."

"Hello, Maventh," said Lira. She was grinning deliriously as she fed Baerth another piece of meat, despite the fact that the little blue's stomach was bulging already and he was radiating waves of satiation. Arryn smiled. "If you don't mind me saying," Lira continued, wiping a greasy hand on the edge of her tunic, "Maventh is…ridiculously big for a green." She finished in a rush as if afraid to say it. Arryn laughed at her.

"Is she really that large?"

"_Yes—_look at the other greens from this clutch! There's around ten others, I think—they're all larger than normal for greens, most of Narenth's hatchlings are—I stood for her first clutch, I should know—but Maventh…"Lira shrugged. "See for yourself."

Arryn glanced about and surreptitiously compared Maventh's size to that of the other hatchlings. She found that Maventh was nearly twice the size of the other greens in the clutch, and bigger than nearly all of the blues—if she was stretched nose-to-tail with the browns, Arryn was almost certain that Maventh would be bigger than a few. She looked down at her dragon and realized that Maventh had curled her tail around her feet in a very prim manner and was looking up at her expectantly, almost smugly.

_We're not going to have any measuring contests,_ Arryn told her dragon. Maventh, absently gnawing on a piece of meat, glanced at the dragonets near their table—two blues, a green and a brown--and replied, _Well, it looks as if none are needed. _

_You're too smug to have hatched just this morning,_ Arryn said, shaking her head and smiling.

_Well, I've been stuck for months in an _egg_ with just myself to talk to,_ Maventh reasoned cheekily. _Can I have another piece of meat? _

_You're going to be fatter than all the others as well, _Arryn teased. Maventh only looked affronted as she took the meat daintily from Arryn's hand.

Lira was talking to T'ran and Sh'len, Arryn listening with her chin propped up on her fist, one hand lazily circling Maventh's nose, when the buzz of the room quieted, leaving only the sound of dragonets chomping away at their first ravenous meal. Arryn craned her neck to see the figure by the door. It was the Weyrleader. He held his hand up as he addressed the new riders. "Congratulations on your Impression. The Weyrling-master will be in shortly to further instruct you on the care of your dragons. After that, you will get cleaned up and enjoy the feast. For now, make sure your dragonets eat until they are not hungry any more, and get to know each other well." He smiled. "You'll be spending the rest of your lives together."

Sh'len, T'ran, Lira and Arryn glanced at each other—the four of them, brown, bronze, blue and green—before breaking into smiles and standing.

"Well," Sh'len said, "I hope this isn't too cliché, but—" he grinned widely and gestured with his arms expansively. "This is the first day of the rest of our lives."

The four dragonets looked at each other in forbearance as their riders coalesced in one happy, sweaty, sandy hug before trooping off to their rooms to get cleaned up for the feast—the feast to honor _them, _the newest dragon-riders of Benden Weyr.


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter isn't as long as most, but I hope it's not completely worthless...character development, after all! I would appreciate any and all critiques---in other words, REVIEW! Please? I need something to keep my mind from these ghastly exams shudder. Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

**Arwen**

"Maventh!" yelled Arryn as she avoided yet another wave of soapy water. Maventh swung her head around, eyes whirling in affection and devilish amusement. "By the time I'm done with this, I might as well take a bath too," muttered Arryn as she reached for more soap-sand to scrub her dragon. She slapped the soft hide teasingly. "If only you weren't so _sharding big_," she mimicked, thinking of all the other weyrlings and riders who regarded her with a kind of wary suspicion. In the month that had passed since the Hatching, all the dragonets grew expansively, and Arryn was sure that Maventh had grown extra just to prove them all wrong—that she could, in fact, be bigger than all of them despite her color.

_At least she's lost her gold,_ Arryn thought to herself privately as she washed Maventh's side. The gold sprinkled across Maventh's nose like a birthmark had been the first to fade, a few days after Impression. At first Arryn had been chagrined, thinking ruefully that it was part of Maventh's beauty, the gold that settled on her deep green hide like gold dust floating on an ocean. But then after a while she realized the sensibility of the occurrence; after all, just because Maventh had tried to change in the shell didn't mean that her odd coloration was natural or even desirable. Once the gold on her wings faded (some of it washed away, inexplicably, during the dragonet's first bathing), people tended just to look at her size as an anomaly, or a testament to Narenth's fertility, despite the fact that the queen had not clutched a gold egg.

_Why are you glad? _Maventh asked, snuffling some bubbles.

Arryn smiled and shook her head—with a dragon, there was no such thing as a 'private' thought anymore, and Maventh didn't yet possess the polite sensibility of the older dragons, who chose what thoughts to comment upon based upon their riders' feelings. _I was just thinking that it's a bit easier for us, now that your gold markings have faded. _

_ Hmarph, _Maventh agreed, still trying to eat the elusive bubbles. _I was a silly hatchling to think I could change myself. _

_ You're perfect just the way you are,_ Arryn told her lovingly. She wiped a wet strand of hair out of her face. _Rinse_, she ordered, and Maventh gleefully dove into the deeper waters. She watched as her green dragon dove under and surfaced next to the larger dragons. They glanced at her patiently as she cavorted about in the water. _Maventh, behave! _Arryn called, stifling a laugh as the green dragon pounced on an elderly brown dragon's tail. The brown, while feigning inattention, whipped his tail out of Maventh's reach at the last second, splashing the younger dragon. Maventh squawked in indignation and treaded water, her gaze trained on the tail just out of her reach. Arryn crossed her arms and watched the show, smiling.

"Well, look who it is!" came a gleeful call behind her. She turned and greeted Sh'len and Kelath. The brown dragon paused to greet her politely before wading into the water. After he got himself wet, Kelath waited patiently in the shallows for Sh'len to begin bathing him.

"I wish Maventh was half as well-behaved as Kelath," Arryn sighed. Maventh gave a little bugle of triumph as she succeeded in capturing the elusive tail. She could see the brown's rider laughing on the shore and caught a whiff of their conversation.

_She is a good youngling,_ the brown dragon said.

_Very entertaining_, agreed his rider. _Come on then. If you don't get out soon you won't have time to sun before training. _

The brown dragon rumbled in anticipation of letting the warm sun soak into his aging bones and with a great heave started out for the shore, sending Maventh tumbling head over tail in his wake.

"You got an early start today," Sh'len commented, slapping a handful of soap-sand onto Kelath's hide.

"Maventh is forever complaining I don't oil her enough," explained Arryn, "so I put extra time in our schedule for that in particular." She dried her hands off and went back to her pack, rummaging about until she found the jar of oil and cloth she'd been looking for; standard issue for all weyrlings.

_Time to get out_, she told Maventh. _I'll take care of that itch under your wing you've been complaining about._

Maventh clambered up onto the shore. _And the one on my nose, too. _

_ On your nose? Hmm. Who would think your nose would grow enough to itch. Maybe you'll just end up with a huge nose, _Arryn said speculatively.

_My nose is not big,_ Maventh protested, affronted.

Arryn laughed and dipped her fingers into the oil-jar, scooping out a good amount of the slippery stuff.

"When do you think we'll begin flying?" Sh'len asked her. Kelath held still while his rider scrubbed him, obligingly lifting his wings so Sh'len could reach his belly.

"Maybe in a month," Arryn replied. Though the dragons had grown astonishingly fast, she didn't think they were quite large enough to bear the strain of flying.

_To the left a bit,_ Maventh instructed, her eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

Sh'len sighed. " I suppose we're all a bit overeager."

Arryn shrugged and turned her attention back to oiling Maventh. After a few moments, Ereth and T'ran joined them, followed by blue Baerth and Lira. This was their customary spot; nearly all the weyr knew that the four weyrlings were nigh inseperable. Breaking away from Arryn, Maventh lunged at Ereth, bowling him over into the mud of the shoreline. The two dragons engaged in a playful tussle, T'ran watching in amusement and Arryn in exasperation. Maventh got the idea into her head that since she was a large hatchling, she would always be large compared to the others—but Ereth had grown bigger than her very fast. It had been an even match for oh, about two weeks after the Hatching, but after that it had quickly evolved into a one-sided match that Maventh refused to acknowledge. Ereth pinned Maventh smugly, his bronze hide gleaming, before diving off into the lake.

"Maventh," Arryn wailed as her dragon trotted happily back to her, dripping mud. "Why can't you ever play when you're already _dirty?!" _

_ Because that's no fun_, Maventh replied, looking at her rider as if she were stupid.

With a long-suffering sigh, Arryn put down the oil and picked up her pouch of soap-sand. _Into the lake with you. _She made herding motions with her hands, and, as large as she was, Maventh still managed to _scamper_ into the water. Lira stifled a snort of mirth and Arryn shot her a glare before wading into the shallows to scrub Maventh. _Good thing we started early today,_ she thought.

"Need help? I'm almost done," offered Lira, sending Baerth to rinse off with a playful tap on his rump. Arryn sighed.

"No thanks, I've got it."

"Oh, come on," said Lira, picking up some soap-sand and walking to the other side of Maventh. "I've got it easy." She smiled impishly as she began to scrub. "Baerth shows no inclination whatsoever to romp about in the mud. Plus, he's not as big as Maventh."

"Yet," Arryn said. "I think the others will catch up in time."

Lira shrugged. "Maybe."

They cleaned in silence until Arryn cocked her head. "Plenneth and H'rath are coming," she commented. She lowered her head and scrubbed harder, her stomach tightening. She hadn' t spoken to H'rath since he had Searched her—it wasn't as if it was intentional; weyrlings were _busy_ and there was Thread to fight and always something to do for both of them. Maventh squirmed.

_I like Plenneth,_ she said in excitement. _D'you think Plenneth can teach me how to dive like the older dragons do? _

_ NO, _ Arryn said, a bit more firmly than she intended. _You're staying here and you're staying clean. _

_ Fine_. Maventh's tail twitched in annoyance.

_Hello, little one, _ Plenneth said as she glided past overhead and folded her wings, plunging like an arrow into the lake. Maventh watched the older green dragon in admiration.

_Hello, Plenneth, _ Arryn replied. Then she was aware that H'rath was beside her. "Hello, H'rath."

"Hello, Arryn." H'rath's eyes traveled over Maventh.

_Hello, rider of Plenneth. _Arryn felt Maventh bespeak H'rath. _ I am Maventh. _

H'rath bobbed his head respectfully. "Nice to meet you, Maventh," he said. Then he turned his attention back to Arryn. "So," he said slowly. "You're a green-rider now."

"Yes." Arryn couldn't help but smile adoringly at Maventh, yet she sensed a strange undercurrent in H'rath's voice.

"I'm very happy for you," H'rath continued. His voice seemed hollow. Arryn frowned. Then she remembered what Plenneth had said to her, when they had been waiting in the antechamber, waiting for the Hatching: _I think H'rath would not mind if you Impressed a male dragon. I would not mind either, if he was strong and handsome._ H'rath stood silently.

"Um, thank you," Arryn said awkwardly, trying not to give in to the thoughts whirling in her head. Yes, a part of her noted, H'rath wasn't bad-looking—he had a strong jaw and a lithe body and intriguing grey eyes…But that was impossible, she told herself firmly. He should know that. "I—um…did you need anything?" she said quickly, feeling a flush heat the back of her neck. Weren't green-riders usually…well, didn't they like men? She jumped guiltily as Plenneth answered her.

_Some do. Most , in fact, but not all_, the green dragon said, twisting and twirling in the water. _Some like both. It depends. Some just make sacrifices for their dragons…like the riders whose dragons fly greens, sometimes. _

Some part of Arryn instinctively twisted away from this debate; it made her acutely uncomfortable.

"Can't I come talk to the girl I Searched, who just happened to Impress?" H'rath asked lightly—too lightly.

"Well, of course," Arryn amended quickly. "It's just that, well, I thought you were busy, I know I am, and it's very hard to think of anything else but training right now, what with this being a Pass and all, they'll need us up fighting as soon as possible."

"Are you glad you Impressed a fighting dragon?" H'rath asked suddenly when she fell silent.

"How could you ask that?" Arryn retorted a bit sharply. "Of course I'm glad I Impressed Maventh!"

"That's not what I meant," H'rath said.

"And besides, there were only fighting dragons to Impress," Arryn reasoned carefully. She saw H'rath's mouth twist in frustration.

_Can I go play with Plenneth? She says she'll teach me to dive! _Maventh asked, looking at Arryn.

_No, _ Arryn said. _We have classes soon. _

Maventh resigned herself to a boring morning.

"Shards," H'rath muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "This isn't coming out right." He took a deep breath. "What I mean to say, Arryn, was that now you're a green-rider as well, I won't ever have the chance…to know you…as well as I would like," he finished haltingly.

"Um," Arryn said, holding a dripping cloth in one hand. She looked about for escape. "Um," she said again, not finding any. Then, suddenly, Lira popped out from behind Maventh, an obscenely cheery grin spread over her face.

"Hello, I'm Lira!" She practically shoved her hand in H'rath's face. Arryn stifled a sigh of relief.

"Nice to meet you, Lira," H'rath said, shaking her hand and recovering from his surprise at being so abruptly assaulted.

"I'm Arryn's weyrmate, for now," Lira continued brightly.

"Oh?" H'rath raised one eyebrow.

"Yes." Lira nodded so hard her hair flew across her face. "My Baerth is over there." She pointed. Baerth was making his way to shore, blue wings spread to keep his balance. The sun shone through them like glimmering, living stained glass.

"Oh," H'rath said again, with a different meaning. "You're a blue-rider?"

"Yep." Lira gave him a dazzling smile. Arryn couldn't hold back a snort—who _was_ this girl? Granted, in the weeks since Impression, Lira had become more and more open, but this? Even this seemed a tad overboard for her usually quiet weyrmate. H'rath glanced at her but she paid him no mind, turning back to Maventh.

_Go rinse,_ she said after a cursory inspection. _And stay clean this time, if you please. I don't have time to wash you again before class. _

Maventh decided to behave, for once, and returned clean.

_I hope you're oiled enough for now, _Arryn said, _ because we have to get to class. _

"Well, H'rath, it's been a pleasure talking to you, but we have to get to class," Lira finished, calling Baerth. Sh'len and T'ran were already waiting at the top of the ridge with Kelath and Ereth. Baerth and Maventh raced up the ridge together, and Baerth gleefully reported to Lira that he had won. Arryn grinned at the blue's exuberance—Baerth was hardly ever in a foul temper, much like Lira—and tugged at Lira's sleeve. The two girls walked up to their waiting dragons together, but not before Arryn had noticed the shell-shocked look upon H'rath's face as Lira turned away from him. She grinned and thought that perhaps now she could sit through the morning's classes, mulling over the many, many implications of the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

**Here I am again! Even exams won't get rid of me! Although I'm posting this chapter grudgingly...only one review for my last! Hmph. Oh and just a forewarning, this chapter was partially influenced by the interaction between Canth, Lessa and Brekke after F'nor's accident, forget what book it's from, I don't have my books with me here at college. But I'm in no way trying to be unoriginal--if you think I am though, just hit that little button down there and tell me so! I hope this chapter also firmly plants Arryn in the realm of non-mary-sue-dom, if that makes any sense at all. Well, I'm done now, so hopefully you enjoy and TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK, dangit! **

**Arwen, out!**

_Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake, _ Arryn willed herself, but nonetheless, her attention began to slip and she felt her chin begin to drop as her eyelids drooped. She sat up and pinched herself desperately. Reaching out to Maventh, thinking that perhaps the dragon could devise a more creative method of driving away her sleepiness, she found with an inward groan that the green was sunning out on the rocks with the other dragons, basking happily and drowsing. She could practically feel the warmth seeping into her. That did it. Her chin dropped onto her chest and her eyes shut…she was drifting into a dream just as she mentally scrabbled to wake up, wake UP—

"Wake up," hissed Lira, elbowing her sharply. Arryn jumped guiltily and blinked, regaining her composure. She wiped drool from the corner of her mouth and glanced about, realizing in relief that many of the other weyrlings found themselves in her position, being elbowed or pinched awake periodically by their seat-partners.

"Thanks," she whispered to Lira, who merely smiled impishly. Arryn turned her attention back to the instructor, who was going over the effects of Thread on various plant life. The lesson was _boring—_after all, they'd be _flaming_ Thread in the air, not grubbing around for it in the fields and forests. That was the job of the ground units. She didn't quite understand these theoretical classes; it wasn't as though they didn't already have enough on their plate, what with the recent flying lessons. Weyrling training was beginning to become insufferable; all she really wanted was to learn how to fly _between, _graduate and fly some sharding Thread! Wincing as a muscle cramped, she shifted gingerly in her seat. Flying was exhilarating, but it was very different than riding a horse, even though she was just as sore the next morning. Most of the dragons of Narenth's second clutch were nearing their full-grown size now; Ereth dwarfed Baerth, and was a full tail-length larger than both Kelath and Maventh, though Kelath had admittedly started his growth spurt a bit later than most of his brothers and sisters. With a sigh she relegated herself to stretching in her seat, flexing her feet and shifting around surreptitiously, until _finally_ the instructor decided to give them their freedom. The class trooped out rather wearily. They were all very tired, but as soon as their dragons awoke they perked up.

"Well," said Lira to Arryn, "at least now I know that there's certain types of ferns on the Southern continent that are resistant to Thread."

Arryn snorted. "Yes, and that's just about as important as what type of grass wherries like to eat."

Lira frowned. "That's actually very important, you know, otherwise the herd would die out and there wouldn't be any food for the—"

"Oh, shards, I was just kidding!" laughed Arryn, the fresh air restoring some of her spirit. Then she frowned. "Do you…feel that?"

"Feel what? No. It's probably someone else," Lira said tactfully—'someone else,' in their own private code, meant one of the other dragons with whom Arryn had rather close connections, outside of her tight bond with her own dragon. Only a few knew of her ability even now; it seemed as if the Weyr leadership had also forgotten her talent, and for that she was privately grateful. Arryn actually stopped walking as the next wave of emotion washed over her. She tried to identify the roiling mix of emotions—was there a green rising? Maybe even Narenth? _No. Fear. Anxiety .Pain. _"Something's happening," Arryn gasped, almost doubling over as the fear intensified into a mind-numbing onslaught of terror. _Maventh! _she cried out, reaching out for her dragon, _Are you all right, love? Are you all right? _

_ I am,_ replied Maventh—she was flying, flying toward Arryn with a speed Arryn hadn't known her dragon possessed. _But someone is not. _

_ Who? _ Arryn asked frantically. The other dragons were beginning to become agitated, and she saw Lira screw her face up in that odd expression she used when talking to Baerth across a long distance. _Who is it, love?_

_I cannot tell exactly, only that Narenth is very distressed and Orlith is nearly out of his mind, _replied Maventh. _ Pertanth has just bespoken me. K'lin says they need us. _

_ Why? _Arryn ran forward as Maventh landed in a great gust of air on the grassy knoll.

_Get on,_ Maventh all but ordered her.

_But you're not—we don't have gear! _Arryn paled, backing away. She had just started flying mere weeks ago! And now—to fly _bare_, with no straps? She could be killed!

_You must! They _need__us! Maventh bugled in agitation, half-spreading her wings as another crushing wave of fear—fear of loss—and pain hit them. The air rang with the calls of dragons, some beginning to sound frightened. _Get ON! I will not let you fall! _

_ Promise? _Arryn felt tears of fear and anxiety pressing in on her and angrily shoved them away—she needed to keep her head, as it seemed everyone else was losing theirs! Lira was wide-eyed and questioning, pale as she talked to Baerth, trying to calm him.

"He won't listen to me," she said fearfully, mouth twisting.

"Help me up!" Arryn said.

"What? You don't have riding gear! That's insane! Arryn, wait!"

Arryn had walked away determinately and found a large rock. She balanced precariously on the rock and jumped up onto Maventh's neck, grunting as the impact hit her sore muscles. Wedging herself as best she could between Maventh's neck ridges, she tightened her grip and clung with all her might. _Let's go! _

Maventh heaved herself off the ground—she was still clumsy taking off,as many times as they had practiced in training the past weeks—and Arryn found herself being jolted about in the air, rapidly rising with every wingstroke. She resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, instead reaching out tentatively to Pertanth. It was the first time she had bespoken a bronze other than Ereth. _We are on our way, _she told the bronze dragon. _Could you tell me what's wrong? _

She felt Pertanth suppress his own agitation long enough to reply, _Something is very very wrong with Orlith's rider. _

M'ran? Oh no, Arryn thought. As strong as Benden was, their Weyrleader was often the only thing that held together the many intricate layers of the Weyr and its people, the politics and games of the riders, the small details that could not go unnoticed, especially during a Pass.

_No wonder all the dragons are going mad, _she told Maventh grimly as they flew with frightening speed over the Lake, over the Weyrbowl toward the Queen's Weyr. _Linnara is out of her mind with fear and worry and Narenth can't handle that as well as calming everyone else. _

_ That's why Pertanth bespoke us, _replied Maventh as if it were only logic.

_Hurry up, I'm slipping, _Arryn said with a very real spike of panic. They were near…just as she lost her grip, Maventh landed on the far edge of the Bowl and she tumbled down onto the sand. Her breath knocked out, she laid still for a moment, then rose and stretched into a dead sprint toward the Queen's Weyr. She was so focused on her goal that she didn't see K'lin until he reached out and grabbed her arm, causing her to skid to a halt. She started—the bronze-rider was pale and disconcerted, a sight that Arryn couldn't believe at first.

"You have to control them," he said tersely, gripping her arm hard.

"What?" she panted, instinctively leaning away from him.

"Control them! Calm the dragons!"

"All of them?" she cried in disbelief. She had expected to _help_, not to have the responsibilities of a gold-rider thrust on her all at once! "I can't!"

"You must," K'lin ground out. His eyes were frightening, his voice low and intense. "We cannot abandon the Weyr to chaos—it could take _days_ for the dragons to be in fighting form again, and we can't afford it!"

"But—Narenth—she—" Arryn was trying hard to catch her breath. She couldn't—she felt sobs starting to tighten her chest.

"Narenth is beside herself with worry over Linnara, who is practically out of her mind because M'ran could be _dying_," K'lin said, giving her arm a shake. "You need to do this."

"I'm only a _greenrider_," she cried.

"No—you are never _only_ a greenrider," said K'lin. "Don't _ever_ use that as an excuse!"

Maventh was bugling in distress behind her—the green dragon was trying to take off, so she could land on the ledge and make K'lin unhand _her_ rider—her anger cut through Arryn's panic and she calmed almost instantly. "Let go of me," she said icily to K'lin, breathing hard. He released her arm abruptly. She promptly walked away, back to Maventh. Placing one hand on her dragon's hide, she closed her eyes and tried. She did. But she felt her own panic rising up like bile in the back of her throat and felt as though she would be sick from the pressure, from the fear and pain emanating from the Queen's Weyr like ripples from a dropped stone… "I can't," she gasped, "I—can't—they won't—listen—" The few dragons she managed to reach _shoved_ her away—who was she to tell them what to feel, what to do? She was not the rider of their queen! "I can't," she sobbed, pressing her forehead against Maventh's soft side. "I can't." She heard K'lin's footsteps, quick and purposeful—and Maventh swung her head about and _snarled _at the bronze-rider, her eyes whirling in anger. The rider had more sense than to challenge the protective young green. He turned on his heel and strode back into the Queen's Weyr. Arryn succumbed to the flood of emotions pounding at her—the fear and shock and the sorrow and pain… She was nearly writhing with it—Maventh, too, moved in agitation, adding her bugles to the distressed calls of the other dragons about the Weyrbowl. Suddenly there was a great cry—from a dragon, heartbroken—and a great bronze body took to the air. Arryn raised her head and watched, trembling, as Orlith keened again, his wings tinged with grey. Then, unexpectedly, there was a fierce bugle and Narenth shot out of the Weyr, rocketing off the ledge so violently that Arryn shielded her eyes against the sand thrown up by her backdraft. She watched in horrified fascination as Orlith keened one last time, preparing to go _between_, no doubt—Maventh shuddered in anticipation! Was M'ran dead? Had the Weyrleader succumbed to whatever sudden illness had ailed him? Then she gasped. The great golden queen had reached her Weyrmate and wrapped herself about him, twining necks and tails, her huge wings straining to keep them aloft. If Orlith went _between _now, he would drag Benden's only queen with him! Arryn held her breath as Narenth pleaded with her Weyrmate. Then she heard it—the exclamation that came from the Queen's weyr, the mental equivalent of a shout: _M'ran lives! He is alive! Come back! _Linnara's voice, desperate and weary but still ringing with a practiced strength as she called to Orlith. Arryn could feel the great clutching terror the Weyrwoman had experienced when Narenth had flown to join her mate—would she lose M'ran and her dragon as well? But no, the two dragons, gold and bronze,were disentangled now, Narenth leading Orlith back to the ledge, her eyes whirling in exhaustion. Arryn breathed a sigh of relief and she felt some of the tension leave Maventh's body. After what seemed like hours, when she knew it was only minutes, the waves of strong emotion ebbed and she merely stood with her forehead against Maventh, eyes closed.

_Are you all right? _Maventh asked in concern, crooning.

"No," murmured Arryn. " I couldn't do it."

_It was a lot to ask, _Maventh said. _Too much to ask. _

_ Too much to ask? Why? _

_ You are young still. We both are, _amended the green dragon.

Arryn sniffled. Why did Maventh always seem to know what to say, what to do—where did her confidence spring from, when she was less than a Turn old, still?

_We're just like that, _Maventh answered her unspoken questions. _It takes our riders a longer time to mature. We can't afford to wait twenty Turns until a queen rises, or until a green can fight Thread for her Weyr. I will be ready soon, and you will be as well. _

"I hope so," said Arryn. Then she sighed. She considered waiting for K'lin or someone else to come out and dismiss her, but she reasoned they had more important things to worry about than a failure of a weyrling. "Come on, let's get back to the others. But we're walking this time. Or at least I am."

_I will walk with you,_ Maventh said. She folded her wings primly, settling them onto her back.

_Thanks, love, _Arryn said.

_For what? _

_ For standing up for me. You snarled at a _bronze-rider_! Didn't it intimidate you? _

_ No, _Maventh said quickly. Then she added a bit sheepishly, _Well, maybe a little. But he wasn't being nice at all to you. _

_ He was just worried, _Arryn said. _But I think everything will be all right. _

_ I think so too, _said Maventh confidently. They walked in silence for a moment before she said, _Do you think I could beat Ereth in a flying race? _

Arryn sighed but smiled. _You want the truth? No. _

If Maventh could have scrunched her nose at her rider in annoyance, she would have at that moment. _ But I'm fast! _

_ Not as fast as Ereth. Baerth might be faster than us too. _

_ But—I'm _bigger_ than Baerth. _

_ Shards, Mav, can you get over this whole size thing? _Arryn demanded, putting one hand on her hip. _Just because you're bigger doesn't mean you're better. Just like I'm not better than any of the other riders because I can talk to all their dragons and you as well. I don't understand why you always feel like you need to be the best at everything. I love you just the way you are. _

Maventh was offended at first, but then lapsed into contemplation. _I suppose it's because the greens are the small ones. They're always overlooked. Until we came along. We're special and you can't hide it—the others think that just because I'm a green, my size doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that I'm bigger. I'm still _just a green.

Arryn winced as she recognized her own words to K'lin, spoken only moments earlier, but she still felt that ridge of annoyance—couldn't Maventh understand what she was trying to say? But she didn't want to argue, not after the harrowing events they had just experienced. "Come on, let's go find the others," she said softly. Hopefully one day her dragon would understand.


	8. Chapter 8

**Just a forewarning, this is a rather depressing chapter. I'm quite exhausted from writing it. Thought I'd let you know. (Oh, the trials of being a writer--throws hand dramatically against forehead and sighs heartbreakingly). Well, I hope you still like it. More to come soon, hopefully! Keep those reviews coming, they make my day! (Seriously!)**

**Arwen**

"The Weyrleader has suffered a heart attack."

The weyrlings, gathered about the Weyrlingmaster, J'ran, on the grassy hill opposite the Weyrbowl, stared, dumbstruck. Only Arryn looked as though she had known what was coming, but she too, still felt as though a rug had been swept out from beneath her. The thought of M'ran, Benden's strong leader, lying helpless as his heart struggled to function—she shook the image from her mind. It was too much.

"There is a Fall four days from now and, quite frankly, with M'ran out of action, we need all the help we can get. So some of you will be flying Thread." J'ran crossed his arms and glared at them all. "I don't think you're ready. But this is part of your responsibility—to be able to serve your Weyr without any thought of safety or readiness. Quite frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if some of you don't survive your first Threadfall."

Some of the weyrlings blanched at this but Arryn looked at T'ran and he rolled his eyes—they knew this was J'ran's rough way of showing affection, this half-teasing threatening talk of his. The blue-rider had scared them all half to death the first day of training with his gruff, no-nonsense talk about Thread-scoring and riderless dragons, but they learned to like him, and he got to know them too. He was an imposing figure, even in his old age, a Threadscore slashing across one eye—he had told them the story about how a green flying cover had panicked and not checked with the other riders before going _between_, ramming into J'ran and his Ulanth as they came out and thrusting the pair into a pocket of Thread. Ulanth had the scars to prove it as well, a flurry of white knotted streaks crossing his flanks.

"Today's lesson was supposed to be about formations, and more flying drills."

Inwardly Arryn groaned, envisioning grueling hours' worth of wheeling and dipping on command.

"But." J'ran held up a hand as the weyrlings held their breath. Could this be _the day_? "But. Since you will be flying Thread in mere days, today's lesson will be double the usual length."

There was an audible sigh among the forty-odd weyrlings clustered on the knoll as they expelled the breath they had been holding in disappointment.

"And." J'ran tended to make connectors into statements. "You will be going _between._"

Arryn almost clapped her hands. Finally! Finally they would be _real dragon-riders. _It seemed as though all their training had led up to this point—and it had, she realized, it had!

"Now. I will warn you, this will not be an easy lesson. Some of you will not be able to complete it." The grim set of J'ran's mouth told them all that he didn't just mean failure. He meant death—the death that resulted when overexcited weyrlings didn't check coordinates or panicked _between _and lost coordinates, or just…simple inability. The thought sobered them all, including Arryn. She surreptitiously glanced about, looking around to imprint the faces beside her into memory, wondering who would be lost. They were all doing it, she realized. All of them. Her excitement settled into the pit of her stomach and began to feel more like dread.

J'ran continued and gave them the customary lecture about going _between_, all the technicalities and little details that couldn't be overlooked. It was nothing they hadn't heard before, but they all listened with rapt, glistening eyes, because this was different. It wasn't in a classroom anymore…they were about to be christened real dragon-riders by the cold of _between._ This was the ultimate test.

"All right." Finally J'ran was finished. He looked at them all silently for a moment, his gaze sweeping through their faces, lingering here and there. "Do I have a volunteer to go first."

The air stretched tight as everyone looked about expectantly.

_We can do it, _Maventh said suddenly.

_No. _Arryn shook her head. _Not first. They'll think we're showing off. _

_It's not showing off when he asked for a volunteer. _

But no—too late! There, a hand, raised tentatively at first but then with more confidence. A bronze-rider, a tall boy named T'rellan whose good-humored voice was often heard raised in laughter or jest. Now he was pale as he gazed at the Weyrlingmaster.

"All right, T'rellan. Remember to check your coordinates with Ulanth before you go." J'ran nodded. "Everyone else, off to the side. Give them plenty of room to take off."

T'rellan and his bronze Ghireth leapt into the air with the grace that seemed inherent to bronzes. Everyone watched breathlessly, tensely, as the pair paused, no doubt checking coordinates dutifully. Then they winked out. Arryn counted the breaths. _One. Two. Three. _And then, perfectly, the bronze form slipped into existence on the other side of the Weyrbowl. The class cheered. They couldn't help it. T'rellan was clapped on the back and congratulated when he landed.

_Now can we go? _Maventh asked impatiently.

_Yes,_ Arryn said. Her stomach did a frantic jig of nervousness and fear as she raised her hand. J'ran raised his eyebrows—normally it was the rambunctious bronze-riders and brown-riders who volunteered, so eager to prove themselves. But he supposed this girl had something to prove too.

Arryn heard T'ran take in a breath as she walked forward and met Maventh at the crest of the knoll. J'ran checked her riding straps to make sure they were secure. "All right."

Maventh leapt into the air—smoother, after practice, but still not as graceful as some of the others. They winged upward until they were hovering and the class was a smudge of fingerprints, pale upturned faces against the green of the hill. She stared hard ahead, visualizing the other side of the Weyrbowl, perfecting the mental image until she was sure the details were just right. Then she shared the image with Maventh, who sent it to Ulanth. She supposed she could have bespoken Ulanth directly, but her stomach was still somersaulting wildly and her heart was in her mouth.

_Ready? _asked Maventh.

_As I'll ever be, _replied Arryn. She gripped the riding-straps until her knuckles turned white. _Let's do this. _

It was so sudden. One breath she was hovering in the sunlight above the Weyr, looking down at her classmates, and then the next she was being eaten alive by a cold that reached into her bones, that seemed to constrict her chest with iron bands. Frantically she counted breaths. _One. Two. Three—_and they were out! Maventh bugled in triumph as she banked, swinging about to fly back to the ecstatic class on the hill. Arryn's relief was so great that she was shaking as she clambered awkwardly down from Maventh's neck. Lira gave her a hard hug, and Sh'len gave her a smile. T'ran, however, said nothing. He merely took her arm and gently pulled her over to stand next to him. She smiled shakily up at him and his grave expression broke as he grinned back at her. "Brilliant," was all he said.

Three more weyrlings took to the air, slipped into nothingness and popped back out into existence at the other side of the Bowl. Then a brown-rider, Q'til, smiled nervously as he took off, and Arryn knew. She knew what was going to happen just as brown Yirth disappeared.

_One. Two. Three. _

_Four. _

They started to look nervously at one another.

_Five. _

Then J'ran's shoulders slumped slightly, and they knew too. The young dragons keened as Maventh declared to Arryn, _Yirth is no more._ The eerie cry was taken up by the other dragons across the weyr, down to the watch-dragon, who spread his wings as he mourned his young kin. Arryn closed her eyes and she felt like she was going to be sick. A warm hand slipped into hers, squeezing comfortingly. She glanced at T'ran, not exactly in surprise, but it was still a piercing look. She didn't know how to interpret the maelstrom of emotions raging in his grey eyes.

"All right." The disheartened students looked dutifully to their mentor. "Who's next."

Who wanted to go after the loss of Q'til? Arryn was secretly very glad they had already gone and she didn't need to lower her head and shuffle her feet awkwardly, like most of the riders who had not yet completed the lesson.

"I'll go."

_No,_ she wanted to say to T'ran, _anyone but you. Not you or Lira or Sh'len._ She didn't know how she would react if she lost one of her closest friends, and she didn't want to contemplate it—it felt like bad luck.

"Very well. Double check with Ulanth before going."

Her hand felt very cold and empty as T'ran strode over to Ereth with a grim, set look.

_They will be fine. Ereth is a good flier,_ said Maventh. Her attempt at reassuring her rider failed miserably as she, too, shifted uneasily.

Arryn felt as though she couldn't breathe as she watched Ereth and T'ran gain altitude, hover for a moment—checking, double-checking—and then _blink_, they were gone. Her heart thudded in her ears, too fast, and she couldn't regulate her breathing enough to get an accurate count. _One, two, three, four, five—_she was beginning to panic, but she was breathing fast, not normal, that wasn't the normal count, slow it down and they'd only be at two, of course only at two because she couldn't lose him, either of them—they couldn't—and _pop_. There they were. There they were. Ereth and T'ran glided down safely, and T'ran bore the same grim expression he had worn before his success. There were no cheers, no congratulations other than a few solemn nods.

And for the next hour that was how it went. The breathlessness and hoping and then the wrenching sorrow of the dragons as another of their siblings disappeared into the nothingness of _between_. It was more of a sorrow because of a life unlived, thought Arryn as she listened to the dragons keen for blue Qarth. She was sure it would be different when an old rider and his dragon disappeared after a good long life. But this, this was raw, this sorrow. They hadn't experienced the thrill and surge of flaming Thread, or the delirious giddiness of a mating flight, or the joy of watching a Hatching and Impression, thinking back to their own. They were…young. That was all there was to it. Young.

By the end of the lesson, they had lost brown Yirth, blue Qarth, green Lateith….and beyond the first three Arryn had dully lost track of the names. The real blow had come when a bronze had taken to the air—Chabeth, the best flier of the class, his wings graceful and long and glimmering in the sunlight as he and E'nar, his handsome rider, had flown upwards, sure of their success. J'ran had watched tensely, the muscles in his neck cording as he spoke with Ulanth—just after the pair blinked out, he shook his head, letting out a ragged, wordless exclamation of anger and sadness. "They didn't check their coordinates, the overconfident whelps!" he said. His fury was horrible but Arryn thought she saw a tear glimmer at the corner of his eye as the grizzled old rider turned to them before the dragons set up their wail and almost shouted, "_That _is why you follow sharding orders! _That_ is how arrogance will get you killed quicker than stupidity!" J'ran subsided into a growl and his voice was overpowered by the chorus of heart-rending cries that emanated from the knot of young dragons on the ridge, taken up by the Weyr. Arryn could hear Narenth lamenting the loss of one of her brightest sons. Yes, they had pinned high hopes on E'nar and Chabenth. She stood and pressed her lips together. She would not cry, because this was the life of a dragon-rider. And she was a true dragon-rider now, she thought fiercely, putting one hand on Maventh. She had passed the test and she stopped remembering the names of the young dragons whose lives had ended before they really began.

They lost two browns, three blues, the single foolish bronze and two greens. Maventh fairly shrieked when each of her sisters failed to reappear. The greens of the clutch—eleven in all—knew each other well and gossiped like schoolgirls. Arryn thought grimly as she tried to console Maventh that it would be like if she lost Lira, her sole female companion amongst all this brawling masculinity. Finally, when Arryn thought she would scream if Maventh announced that another dragon was no more, they had all gone. They looked about again at their reduced numbers; somehow during the lesson they had all migrated to their respective colors, the blue-riders consoling Lira, the bronze-riders—the untouchable bronze-riders!—looking shaken at the loss of E'nar and Chabenth.

_Welcome to our world,_ thought Arryn, not unkindly, as she gave another green-rider a comforting hug.

"All right." J'ran addressed them authoritatively. "Tomorrow there will be early flight drills and then a double afternoon session—no classroom nonsense." He emphasized this last with a look that plainly said, _No classroom nonsense—because you're not weyrlings anymore, and we have a Fall to train for. _"Dismissed."

The graduated weyrlings traveled down to the Bowl wearily. Once or twice an older rider raised a hand to them, as if in salute, but the young riders couldn't muster up any exuberance over their new status as full members of the Weyr. All Arryn wanted was a hot bath and food and sleep, and that was exactly her aim as she and Maventh joined Lira and Baerth on the way to their Weyr. Lira sighed.

"Everything's changing," she said softly as they walked. "Changing so fast."

"I know," Arryn nodded.

"You know we won't be able to be weyrmates for much longer." It was a statement.

Arryn nodded again, sadly. At this point, the prospect of Maventh rising, while she usually regarded it with a sort of nervous excitement, held no joy. It was just something else that would separate her from the people about whom she cared the most. She was careful to tuck those thoughts away so Maventh couldn't hear them, a feat she at which she had become adroit. "I just want a bath," she said almost plaintively.

Lira nodded emphatically. Then she brightened, her unfailing good cheer beginning to revive. "Last one to the hot springs is a half-brained wherry!"

Arryn looked at her in utter shock and then Lira took off, sprinting away in a fit of giggles. "She can't be serious," she muttered to herself, but she had to admit, it felt good to smile as she ran after her best friend, the worries of the day falling behind her.

**A little end note: it's been pointed out to me that it's very unusual for such a large number of weyrlings to fail to complete the lesson in which they learn to go between. Now, I was taking a bit of artistic license, but I feasibly could cut it down to just bronze Chabenth and maybe brown Yirth or a green or a blue not making it. Thoughts on this? I'm open to any suggestions (bring it on, canon-nazis: P )**

**Arwen**


	9. Chapter 9

**Gah! These exams! Blame them for the slow update and short chapter. Really, if I ever meet a real, live chemist I might throw a very heavy object at them for insisting that chemistry really is a viable subject to study in college. I say again, Gah! Okay, anyway, this is a short chapter, like I said, just setting up again, but please read it anyway!! And review. Perhaps reviews might rouse me from my chemistry-induced stupor and strike me with a bolt of inspiration...Hey, I can hope. So, recap: chemistry equals evil, this chapter equals short, and reviews equal a happy ecstatic exuberant author! Happy reading!**

**Arwen, out!!**

"Arryn!"

The voice burrowed through her sleep like a particularly insistent worm, even when Arryn threw her arm over her ears and cocooned deeper into the blankets in protest.

"Arryn, wake _up_!" Someone approached the bed, tried to pull the covers back and gave up when Arryn emitted something between a snarl and a whine. Distantly, Arryn noted that Lira had asked Baerth to get Maventh to rouse her. She groaned as her dragon began prodding at her.

_Wake up, wake up, wake up! _

Her exuberance was almost palpable. Shards, why did she have to Impress a _morning_ dragon? Why couldn't Maventh be content sleeping until noon on the days they didn't have training…_training…TRAINING! _Arryn bolted out of bed, or attempted to, succeeding only in tangling herself in the covers and nearly toppling over onto the floor. She gave a little shriek as she caught her balance, both at her near-doom and the racket her sore muscles were making. The shriek deteriorated into a groan as she realized that they had yet another double-session today. Perhaps J'ran would have mercy on them. Then she froze. No—they'd already endured two full days of double-sessions. It wasn't another training day. It was the day of the Fall. "Are we late?" she asked breathlessly, extracting herself from the covers with all possible speed.

"No, I planned time to wake you up into our schedule," Lira said drily. She watched in amusement as Arryn hopped about, tugging one boot on while looking for the other.

"Have you seen my—Oh. Thanks." Arryn took her wher-hide vest from Lira with a self-deprecating little grin. "What would I do without you."

"Probably sleep all day and then have to run night watches for the rest of your life," Lira stated matter-of-factly as they headed out onto the ledge. Arryn blinked as the chilly morning air completed her wake-up. Maventh and Baerth were already waiting, Maventh shifting her wings restlessly and Baerth's blue tail sweeping slowly across the ground.

The past days had been a blur of emotions and training and soreness and just general confusion as the young riders were brought up to speed in their knowledge of the more refined tactics and techniques of fighting Thread. The shock of losing eight of their classmates had worn off, settling into a dull ache that they all bore stoically. Somehow, it brought them all closer together. Or most of them, anyway—thankfully, Arryn had not seen P'tar much throughout training. He sometimes found occasion to make a pert comment or a snide remark, to which she would reply with an icy silence. Her indifference seemed to baffle him, she noted with great inner satisfaction. The fact that Maventh was nearly the size of P'tar's Grath—who, admittedly, was on the smaller side of the scales as far as browns were concerned—gave her extra leverage against the irritating dim-glow, though it would only be in dire straits that she would resort to comparing dragon sizes.

The day after their first excursion _between_, J'ran had informed them that they would be using the lesson to practice flaming targets. The group of young riders, most half-there, gazing at him dully through glazed eyes, still shaken by the events of the previous day, snapped to attention. J'ran knew what he was doing when he set the class to fighting the lingering cold of _between_ with fire. It was intimidating to both rider and dragon at first, but Arryn soon found a rhythm with Maventh, tuning into the rumblings deep within her dragon's stomach to gauge when a flame would be ready, and how much flame was left in reserve. Maventh would turn her head and Arryn supplied her with firestone—at first she had tried to shove huge chunks into her green's open mouth, thinking eagerly that the larger the stone, the larger the flame. All this had produced was an irritated Maventh spitting out a huge, unchewable piece of firestone, and J'ran rolling his eyes forbearingly at a flushed Arryn.

But they were ready now, she thought as she spread oil onto Maventh's emerald hide. She made sure to oil well about the neck-ridges and wing joints, where the riding-straps fit—they would be wearing them for almost the entire day. A tingle of excitement started to quiver deep within her, that intrinsic part of her that still thrilled at being a dragon-rider. "I can't believe we haven't been assigned our wings yet," she said conversationally as they began the preemptory check of their riding gear, tugging at the leather straps to ensure there were no hidden flaws that would mean death in the air. Arryn pulled at a strap and paused as she caught the half-surprised look that flitted across Lira's face. "What?"

"Nothing." Lira shook her head and bent intently over her gear.

"No. Really." Arryn gave her best friend a piercing look. "What is it? Don't make me ask Baerth."

"He wouldn't tell you," Lira said forcefully, her eyes wide and panicky.

Arryn blinked at the sharp retort. "Um. Sorry. Didn't mean it…that way."

After a tense moment Lira sighed. "I know. I'm really not supposed to tell you either. But…"

"But?"

"But I will anyway." Lira seemed to be gathering her strength. It all came out in a rush. "Not all of us were assigned wings because not all of us are flying in the Fall today, turns out the Weyrwoman was furious at the amount we lost _between_—" a pause, a brief flash of pain before she barreled bravely on in the face of Arryn's incredulity—"so J'ran could only put a certain amount up, had to keep some down, and we've already got our wing assignments."

Arryn's mind processed this information slowly, ticking through each word as though there was a checklist. Then something clicked behind her eyes. "What do you mean, 'you' already got 'your' wing assignments?"

"I'm flying today," Lira replied with a strange, calm confidence, but her fingers were shaking as she tried to check a buckle.

Arryn took a deep, deep breath—inhaled until her ribs creaked from the pressure—and let it out slowly, slowly, slowly. "So. If we didn't…get a wing assignment…we're….not flying." She almost winced at the two words. Maventh turned inquisitive eyes on her and she ignored her dragon for a moment, breath suspended in anticipation of Lira's answer, the single word that would mean so much for her.

"Yes," Lira almost whispered.

Arryn stood and walked away. _Where are you going? _Maventh asked her, puzzled.

_I can't handle this right now, _snapped Arryn, feeling the anger heat her chest. Not flying. Not flying. J'ran thought they weren't good enough, she thought fiercely. He thought they were _just another green._

_I'm sorry,_ Maventh said plaintively, and Arryn realized that she had been broadcasting her furious thoughts. _I'm sorry I didn't try harder. I could have flown faster in drill yesterday, and my aim could have been better at flaming practice. If I concentrate, I'm sure I can improve my takeoff as well. _

Her dragon's earnesty brought tears to Arryn's eyes. _No, no, no,no,_ she said vehemently, throwing her arms around Maventh's neck. _It has nothing to do with you, love, you're strong and wonderful and beautiful and smart and brave. It has everything to do with wherry-brained idiots thinking that I'm not good enough because I'm a girl. _

_Or because I'm a green, _Maventh added. Arryn knew better than to try to dissuade her. She merely stood, trembling with anger at the injustice of it all. After a few moments, she took a deep breath, let it out and turned to Maventh, a hint of a smile ghosting across her lips.

_All right love, _she said wryly, _we may be stuck ferrying firestone about, but we'll be the—the best damn firestone—firestone ferriers this weyr has ever seen! _

_We'll show them all how to do it, _Maventh agreed with a hint of amusement. With another sigh Arryn turned and walked back to Lira. "Oh, don't stare at me like I'm going to bite your head off," she said to Lira. "It's not your fault anyway. I wish you and Baerth luck in the Fall." She couldn't manage much more than that, even to her best friend; the anger still threatened to choke her. But Lira nodded and smiled, and Arryn vaulted up onto Maventh, hooking her feet in the riding straps and making sure the gear was secure. She took another deep breath and steadied herself before Maventh leapt off the ledge and glided smoothly across the Weyrbowl to where they would report for ferrying firestone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Exams are over, hallelujah! But summer training starts soon, so please don't be upset when I don't update weekly as per usual...Anyway, this chapter was probably the most fun to write EVER (you'll find out why...bwahaha...)! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, keep em coming--if you have a bone to pick, think something should be done differently, click that lil button and tell me so! I can take it, I'm a tough writer. : ) Anyway, enjoy!**

**Arwen, out!!**

Arryn grabbed another sack of firestone, wincing as the sore muscles in her arms protested. She gave Maventh a mental nod—they had been at this for hours, and neither of them needed verbal commands anymore. Arryn wasn't sure whether her back ached from hoisting sacks of firestone or from flying, the line between their consciousnesses had blurred so greatly. They were in constant demand—the Fall was going badly. She knew that much, from the amount of dragons that had winked between to the Weyrbowl, where those taking a break from ferrying firestone (a small number, for this Fall) waited to assist Threadscored riders and exhausted dragons.

Amazing, thought Arryn as she deftly tossed the sack to a brown-rider. The extra numbers provided by the newly graduated weyrlings—about twenty in all were flying—barely covered the loss of M'ran, simply due to his experience and the fact that communication between wings was now very disjointed. Narenth and the queen's wing seemed distracted as well, and more than once a blue or green had broken their low sweep to flame a patch of Thread that posed a threat to the great golden dragon and her bevy of smaller dragons.

Even flying in the Queen's Wing would be better than this, thought Arryn bitterly as she and Maventh glided to the ground, only to be summoned again by a rather frantic-sounding green. _Let's _between _this one, _suggested Arryn. _That way we can get up to cover level without having to weave in and out of everyone. _Maventh agreed silently, resting for a brief moment while a rider whose dragon was injured and therefore grounded handed Arryn a full sack. Maventh lunged upward, her wing-strokes abrupt and jerky compared to her normal smooth rhythm. They were both tired. It was a pattern—wink _between_, cold, cold, cold, wink into existence again, check for Thread and dragons in the way, toss the sack, wink out again, cold, cold, cold, wait for another call.

"Arryn!"

She turned to face R'sen, a fellow green-rider, who was looking at her concernedly.

"Do you want to take a break?" he asked her. "Rilith and I can cover ferrying for a little while."

Arryn half-smiled. Even in her weary state, she recognized the fact that the smaller greens were more exhausted than she or Maventh could understand. After all, Maventh _was_ the size of a small brown or a large blue, depending on which way you looked at it, and there was no excuse for them not to do the work of one, even if Maventh was finer-boned and lighter than most dragons her size—that was only to be expected, she supposed. "No, it's all right, R'sen," she managed to croak out after a moment of swallowing to wet her throat. But she accepted the water-skin R'sen offered gratefully, and shoved a piece of sweetbread into a pocket of her vest for later.

_You all right, love? _she asked Maventh as she took a final swallow of the tepid water and handed the skin back to R'sen.

_Of course, _ Maventh replied, swinging her head about to nudge at Arryn affectionately. _Why would I not be? _

_We've been ferrying for a long time. I know you must be tired. _In response, Arryn felt Maventh give the mental equivalent of a nonchalant shrug.

_We do what needs to be done,_ she said simply. _Baerth has bespoken me. They need more stone. _

_Well, then, what are we standing here gabbing about for? _grinned Arryn as she swung herself back up between Maventh's neck-ridges.

Maventh wheeled between two browns as they drew near to Baerth's position. The blue dragon looked tired, a grey tinge dulling his hide. Lira caught the sack of firestone with a wince, her face smudged with soot. Maventh drew near enough that Arryn could see the cut bleeding sluggishly across Lira's cheek, and the slight Threadscore across Baerth's flank. She glanced about, checking for incoming pockets of Thread; they were in the clear for a moment.

_Baerth, _she called. _Tell Lira that she should really get that cut taken care of, please. _ The blue dragon wearily acquiesced, his reply short to the point of being sharp. Lira glanced at her and shook her head, pressing her lips together stubbornly. Arryn sighed; her weyrmate seemed to have become more stubborn as the hours progressed. Baerth was a steady flier, yes, but it was their first Fall, after all, and Arryn was surprised that her Wingleader, I'tar, or Wingsecond, A'vin, hadn't told the new riders to rest yet.

_Incoming,_ said Maventh calmly, sighting an ovoid of Thread heading in their general direction. Arryn visualized the firestone station on the rim of the Weyrbowl, and they blinked out just as Baerth drew back his head to flame. She couldn't help the spike of jealousy that twinged in her stomach at the sight of Lira and her dragon flaming Thread.

_We will be up there soon enough, _Maventh said, banking to land with a bit of a jolt on the ground.

_I know, I know,_ Arryn replied, stretching her shoulders and rolling her head to work out the tightness in her neck. _Patience isn't exactly one of my virtues, love._

Maventh rumbled in agreement and amusement.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the Fall ended, and the greens who had been resting were sent out to run low cover-sweeps, skimming the treetops as they searched for active pockets of Thread on the ground that had been missed by the ground patrols with their flamethrowers. The grubs protected the roots of the trees, yes, but damage could still be done to other parts of the land. Arryn helped clean up the firestone, until she was shooed away and told to get some rest. She pulled herself up onto Maventh's back one more time and the green dragon gamely leapt into the air, gliding toward their weyr and some welcome respite.

When they landed, Arryn all but fell off Maventh. "Having half the amount ferrying firestone and twenty more dragons to ferry for is definitely not my idea of efficient management," she muttered as she worked at the buckles of her riding gear. Maventh rumbled in appreciation as her rider slid the gear off, flexing her wings freely. Arryn dumped the gear into a corner and asked Maventh, _Do you need me to oil you, love? _No response. She frowned and turned around. _Maventh?_

Her dragon was already fast asleep on the ledge, her green hide glowing in the dying light of the afternoon sun. Arryn merely stood and gazed at her for a moment, a fond smile touching her lips. Then her stomach growled and she turned into her weyr, eager for some food and sleep.

She slept for a few hours and then found herself awake again—it was late evening, not too far into the night. Stretching tentatively, she moved her arms and shoulders, wincing when she found particularly sore muscles. Not too terribly bad overall, she thought reflectively, considering they had ferried for basically the entire Fall, with only a few short breaks.

Lira was sprawled across her bed, still entirely in her riding gear, wher-hide vest and all. Her face, though, was clean, and there was a small white bandage on her left cheek. Arryn paused and considered leaving her that way, still struggling with the fact that her friend had gotten to fly Thread—her final exam as far as becoming a full-blooded rider, as it were. But then she sighed and shook her head at herself, pulling off Lira's boots gently and tucking a blanket about her. She sighed again and suddenly realized she wanted to talk to T'ran—she wondered how the Fall had gone for him.

Arryn changed into a soft blue tunic and a pair of comfortable but respectable-looking breeches, making a face as she bent down to pull on her boots. She spent a moment in front of the mirror finger-combing her wild chestnut curls—she considered plaiting it, as she usually did, but for some reason she liked it down, and to her own surprise she reached for a deep wine-red scarf and a matching sash. The scarf she folded thin and tied about her head—there, the deep color set off glints of autumn in her hair, red and golden sparks playing along her curls. And the sash went about her waist, complimenting the rich color of the blue tunic and the flare of her hips. She wasn't as thin as some, she reflected, but she was tall and had long legs and was curved in basically all the right places.

"Going somewhere special tonight?"

Arryn jumped almost guiltily, snatching her hands down from where they had been pressing at her hips. "Lira, I didn't know you were up."

"I wasn't, a minute ago," Lira replied in her dry manner. "But then a well-meaning someone divested me of my boots and my feet got cold."

"Well, forgive me for trying to be a good weyrmate," said Arryn, hiding her irritation behind a smile.

"You are forgiven," Lira replied solemnly. "And you're avoiding the question."

"What? Oh, no, I'm not going anywhere special, I'm just going to see T'ran to see how he fared in the Fall."

Lira quirked an eyebrow. "Just going to see T'ran, eh?" She smiled and looked pointedly at Arryn's ensemble. "I like your scarf and sash. Are they new?"

"Er—no, I think it might be yours, actually."

"Well, you can borrow it. Because you're such a good weyrmate and all." She smailed again, and then turned serious. "Arryn, are you still mad at me for flying in the Fall?"

"I—of course not! I was never—mad at you for flying…" Arryn trailed off as she realized how feeble her protests sounded, even to her own ears.

Lira gave her a small, sad smile. "I'm sorry. I told them I thought you should have flown. Did you even take any breaks when you were ferrying? Honestly, I thought that was the harder job today, only having twenty-odd to ferry for everyone…with no new weyrlings yet and all…"

"We took a few breaks," Arryn replied carefully. After all, greens could only fly half a Fall, and she didn't want anyone to think that she pushed Maventh harder than she could handle.

"I just… I saw you everywhere, and other riders noticed it, too, even the older riders. I heard a few of them talking about you."

"Well, you and Baerth flew well today."

Lira shrugged. "We flew. That was all. Nothing spectacular. I mean, people notice us because we're both unusual, you know, you with a green as big as a brown and me, a girl with a blue."

Arryn sat down on her bed. She was beginning to sense that this discussion was about much more than Lira was telling her. She patted the bed next to her and Lira sat down.

"I was so happy when I Impressed Baerth," Lira said quietly. "It was so unbelievable, like every disappointment I'd ever had, the times I walked away from the Hatching Ground with nothing to show for it except burned feet…it made up for all that, the instant I knew he was mine." She glanced at Arryn and sighed. "But now, it's just, people don't even want to know me, or know my name. I'm just 'the girl with the blue.' It's like nothing else matters, I'm defined by that. And sometimes I feel like I don't know who I am anymore."

"We _are_ defined by our dragons, in a way," Arryn replied. "You know what I mean? There's nothing that's brought out in you by Baerth that wasn't there before. He just…" She paused, searching for the right word. "He _magnifies_ you. Understand?"

Lira nodded. Then she grinned at Arryn. "I don't want to keep you from T'ran any longer." She evaded Arryn's swat. "Go on then!"

Arryn laughed and walked out into the cool night. Maventh raised her head sleepily. _You can go back to sleep if you want, love. _

_ Where are you going? _Maventh asked groggily.

_To see T'ran. Ereth's rider. _

Her dragon was already nodding back off to sleep. _I like Ereth, _she murmured before drifting off. Arryn smiled and stroked her dragon's nose before walking past, setting a good pace towards T'ran's weyr.

She was greeted by T'ran's weyrmate, a large blond youth who shook her hand heartily and introduced himself as V'remnar, rider of bronze Devarith.

"Devarith says he can hear you sometimes," V'remnar added after introducing himself. Arryn blushed.

"Well," she said awkwardly, "yes."

"Oh, well don't be such a stranger then!" V'remnar admonished. "Any rider my dragon likes is more than all right in my books." Then he squinted at her good-humoredly. "Hey, is Maventh by any chance that sharding big green?"

"Yes again," Arryn admitted, not knowing whether to laugh or twist her fingers in embarrassment.

"_Thought_ I recognized you!" V'remnar said gleefully. Arryn couldn't help but smile. "You were brilliant today in the Fall, all over the place—and you have great aim."

"Yes, great aim tossing firestone sacks," Arryn said wryly.

"Oh-ho, someone's a bit bitter," said V'remnar jovially. He clapped Arryn on the back, rather hard—she turned her wince into a laugh. "Don't worry, you'll be showing us all up soon anyway!"

"I'll be showing you something soon if you don't quiet down," came a growl from the doorway of the weyr.

Both Arryn and V'remnar turned to see had growled at them so rudely. It was T'ran. Without a shirt on. _Shards_. It was all Arryn could do to keep her jaw from dropping. T'ran—his dark hair mussed, grey eyes sleepy and stormy both at once, wearing rumpled trousers that were loose on him and just barely clung to his hipbones, almost slipping down to _there_—by Faranth's egg, she couldn't breathe. Only stare. And stare some more. How had she not noticed this before? When had he gone from adorable best-friend-material to unbelievably gorgeous drool-worthy-material? She was sure that this miraculous transformation had happened overnight just to spite her, and she was suddenly very, very glad that she had followed her strange impulse to wear the red scarf and sash.

"Oh, hello, Ar," he said, still hazy from sleep. He rubbed his hand over his face. "Want to come in?"

Ar? When had she let him start calling her that? And why couldn't he put a shirt on? No—wait, she didn't _want_ him to put a shirt on, but…she couldn't talk, only nod dumbly. If he wanted her to participate in an intelligent conversation he had better put a shirt on, she amended, following him into the weyr and shooting a look of helpless desperation at V'remnar, who only gave her a shrug that said, _I can't control him. Believe me, I've tried. _

"Want some klah? It's kinda cold, but it's better than nothing," T'ran said, pouring a cup for himself and knocking it back like a shot of whiskey. He made a face and poured another cup. The curve of his arm as he lifted the jug fascinated Arryn. "Want some?" he repeated, and she shook herself. Get with it, get with it, she scolded herself mentally.

"Sure," she managed to reply, taking it from him. Her palms were sweating. As he turned away she noticed the bandage about his shoulder—she'd missed it in the shadows. "You're hurt!" she exclaimed before she could stop herself.

"It's not bad. I just got in the way of some Thread."

"Oh, like you have a habit of getting in front of people's fists as well?" Arryn teased, finally trusting her voice again. Okay. This was rather safer territory. She took a gulp of klah and almost spit it out—it was horrible. Of course it would be, she thought to herself. Boys can't even make klah right.

T'ran made a face at her. "I usually have good reason."

Her eyes twinkled wickedly. "Such as…?"

"Well, that first fight with P'tar was justified…that was just…" He shook his head, grinning ruefully. "He's just an idiot. He deserves it."

"Hmph," she said. "What about the second time?"

"The second time, I just wanted to punch him. No justification," T'ran admitted, smiling again. They lapsed into a silence that couldn't exactly be termed comfortable…it might have been for T'ran, but Arryn could only fervently wish that he would put a shirt on and release her from his thrall.

"So…you just, um, got in the way of some Thread?" she asked finally, fiddling with her mug.

"Yes," he replied definitively. For some reason he was avoiding her eyes.

"Um. Does it hurt?"

"Of course not," he said. Then he grimaced. "Well. A little bit. I can't really lift my arm, to tell the truth. Can't get a shirt on."

"Oh. _Oh._" So it wasn't part of some wicked scheme to render her totally senseless. "I could help you?" Her offer came out as a question, little more than a squeak, but he looked at her with relief.

"Please," he said. "V'remnar, he's a great rider, but he'd never let me live it down. He's a loudmouth," he whispered to her confidentially.

Arryn laughed. "I noticed." She got up and walked over to his wardrobe. "Now, sir, what shirt shall we be wearing tonight?" she inquired in a stuffy, nasal voice, gesturing grandly to the meager selection of clothes folded on the shelves. He walked over and stood beside her—unnervingly close. Her light-hearted smile faltered as he looked down at her, his grey eyes dark with an emotion she couldn't identify.

"We?" he asked softly, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"We as in, you, as in, how rich holders talk," Arryn clarified rather quickly. Next she would be stuttering, she thought in chagrin. That was how it always progressed.

T'ran merely smiled enigmatically—since when had he been enigmatic, either?—and picked out a plain, loose shirt made of white cotton. "This one will do."

"Fine choice, sir." Arryn resumed her role-play of stuffy servant. She held the shirt daintily with two fingers, pinching the shoulder seams as she delicately shook the wrinkles out, feigning a sort of bored disdain. She could tell T'ran was almost laughing—good, if he laughed it would break this strange mood—and then she held up the shirt. "All right, how shall we do this?"

"Very carefully," replied T'ran seriously. She opened the bottom of the shirt and stood on tiptoe, dropping it on his head. There were muffled sounds of mirth as he pulled the shirt down over his head with his good arm. He started to push his good arm through the sleeve but Arryn stopped him.

"You'll need as much slack as possible so that you won't have to lift your arm very far," she explained.

"You seem to have this very planned out," T'ran remarked. He stepped closer to Arryn and seemed to be waiting. She caught her breath and took hold of the shirt pooled about his neck with a business-like air.

"Of course," she said. "I never do anything half-way. You should know that by now."

He chuckled but then broke off in a hastily stifled groan as she pulled the shirt down over his shoulder.

"Sorry, sorry," she apologized quickly. "Here, can you lift your arm just a bit?"

T'ran bit his lip and raised his arm with an effort. Arryn took his wrist and quickly slipped it through the sleeve.

"There," she said as he wriggled his good arm through the other sleeve. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

He didn't reply. He was gazing at her again in that strange way…and it was the oddest thing, Arryn suddenly recognized that look in his eyes: it was the same look he had gotten when they had sat on Lira's bed, after his first fight with P'tar, and the look he had given her after she had gone _between_ for the first time…His hand was moving, she realized, to her waist—she could feel the heat of his skin through the red sash—and he was drawing closer, closer…

"OY! Loverboy! Want to come get summat to eat?"

Arryn bit her lip, trying not to laugh at T'ran's badly concealed chagrin. Secretly, she was relieved as he moved away and answered V'remnar.

"Of course! I'm starving!" He rolled his eyes at Arryn and smiled forbearingly as they made their way to the door.

"We dashing bronze-riders, we've gotta eat, you know," V'remnar confided to Arryn with the utmost sincerity.

"Oh, I'm sure," she grinned. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, or sometime, T'ran. It was nice meeting you, V'remnar."

"Nice meeting you too!" bellowed V'remnar after her as she walked away. She heard him interrogating T'ran as they made their way toward the kitchens. "D'you like her, T'ran, are you _sweet_ on the pretty little green-rider? Oy, tell me now, what's the deal here?..."

She almost felt sorry for him. But then she remembered how he had tortured her with his shirtlessness, and she smiled to herself. He deserved it.


	11. Chapter 11

**WELL, I'm baaack! Finally! I promised I'd update as soon as I could and here it is, hope you all like it! Actually you might just hate me after this chapter but who knows...you can hit that little button down there and tell me about it!! Anyway, without any further ado, enjoy!!**

**Arwen, out!**

"Arryn."

_Why do I always have to be woken up in the middle of delicious dreams? _Arryn wondered grumpily. She considered burrowing deeper into the tangled mess of her bedsheets but knew that Lira would only bespeak Baerth and then Maventh would chatter incessantly until she woke up, effectively planting the seeds for a morning-long headache. With a heavy sigh, she begrudgingly poked her head out from beneath the covers, scrabbling at the hair that was plastered across her forehead. "Hmph," she replied to Lira, who was standing in the doorway looking askance at her.

"Come on now, you've slept more than enough," Lira said with an air of practicality. "Unless, of course, T'ran _tired you out_ last night…?" She twitched her eyebrows suggestively and then hurredly dodged a pillow. "Sorry, I had to ask," she grinned unrepentantly.

"Hmph," Arryn said again, this time with more of a growl and a glare. She disentangled herself from the sheets, wincing as her feet touched the cold floor. _I must find some rugs or something_, she thought groggily, blinking. "Did you wake me for something important or do you just enjoy making me miserable?" she mumbled at Lira, stumbling across the room towards the wash-basin. Maybe she shouldn't have had so much wine the other night…but they _were_ celebrating her first flight in a Fall, the first time she and Maventh had flamed Thread like true dragonriders. Surely that was cause enough for celebration, she reasoned. Then her head ached sharply in protest of her sudden movement, and she rephrased her thought. Perhaps it was cause for celebration, but she'd have to make sure to celebrate a little less hardily next time—and with wine less strong than the Tillek concoction they'd gotten ahold of last night.

Last night….She frowned. Something seemed out of place in her memories of last night, something jutting out like a splinter in her mind. Squinting, she tried to dig out the fragment of memory but then gave up and poured some water into the wash-basin, grimacing at the sour taste in her mouth. Scooping up water in her hands, she doused her face and poured some water down the back of her neck as well, reasoning that it certainly couldn't hurt.

_What can it hurt?_

She stiffened.

"Arryn, are you all right?" Lira asked, her mouth thinning in concern as she watched her weyrmate.

"Um. Yes?" Arryn answered. She wasn't sure. Her brow furrowed. What had…? Her eyes widened. _Maventh? _she reached out, an edge of panic in her voice. Her dragon was sunning on a ledge by the Weyrbowl, quite content with basking in the sun and in the admiration of the other dragons…

_Yes? _the green answered lazily.

_What…what did I do last night?_

_Hm. _Maventh considered the question, tail twitching. _You did a lot of things last night._

Arryn was too worried to feel properly annoyed at Maventh's enigmatic answer. _Did I do anything…unusual?_

_You drank much more wine than you ever have, _Maventh replied speculatively. _But it seemed as though you had a good time, with all the riders looking at you._

_Just as the others are looking at you now, _Arryn finished. She'd known for a while now that Maventh was close to rising. Today wasn't the day, and tomorrow probably wouldn't be either—she knew that much—but it was close. They could both feel it and it made them edgy. _I know, Mav, I know _that. _But…anything…else? _She could hear the pleading in her own thoughts and it made her cringe but she waited breathlessly for Maventh's answer.

_You disappeared for a while. With a man._

Her stomach dropped. Damn it all, she _had _had too much wine and she couldn't remember, try as she might. _What man? _She felt Maventh's mental equivalent of a shrug. _Please, it's very important. Please try to remember, Maventh!_

_Why does it matter so terribly much? You were very happy when you kissed him. You were also very drunk, but you were happy nonetheless. _

"Oh, no," Arryn groaned. It was coming back to her in pieces. Her head was starting to hurt. But she held on to a desperate hope—perhaps she was mistaken, perhaps the wine had addled her memory…

_If you really need to know, _Maventh continued forbearingly, _it was Pertanth's rider._

Pertanth's rider. "Shards," moaned Arryn.

K'lin.

She somehow staggered back to the bed before her knees gave out. It all came rushing back, so quickly her head spun and she shut her eyes tightly.

"Arryn, are you sure you're all right?" Lira took a step toward the bed.

"I'm fine," Arryn ground out. "Please, I promise, I'm fine. I just…need some time."

"All right," Lira said warily. "Call Baerth if you need me."

Arryn nodded wordlessly, her head sinking into her hands as Lira exited.

_Tillek wine. Amazing stuff. Was she thinking it or saying it as she grinned and accepted the congratulations of a few riders…This was a good idea, this celebration for her and the others…they'd just flown their first Fall and they'd been bloody brilliant. Arryn frowned. She _had _said that last part out loud. Oh well. She turned her attention back to the room full of riders, most of whom had drunk a few glasses of wine already, and some had gotten ahold of some vile-tasting spirits. She'd downed a few shots nonetheless and her head was floating pleasantly. With a wide grin she raised her glass to the toast made by some rider who she didn't know—he stood on a table and said something, then downed his glass, so she downed hers as well, the wine passing across her lips with a bite. She really didn't mind the taste anymore._

_"Arryn?"_

_She blinked, focused, and smiled giddily as she recognized the handsome face before her. Handsome. So…_pretty_. But manly still. T'ran. She didn't even blush as she realized it was all out loud, all of it. She didn't care…why should she? It was how she felt. _

_"Well…" T'ran shifted awkwardly, grey eyes clouding. It was clear he hadn't had much to drink that night. His arm was still bandaged. "Arryn, I think you should call it a night."_

_"Don't want to," she pouted, then brightened. "'Sides, all the riders'r lookin' at me'n Mav cause guess what?" She giggled. "Gonna rise soon. Yep." Another glass, full in her hand, courtesy of a brown-rider. She kissed him on the cheek happily, then looked at T'ran. "You wanna kiss me too?"_

_He looked away, and even inebriated, she could see the flush creeping out from behind his ears._

_"You're blushing," she said smugly, pleased with her acute observation. "That means you want to." With what she thought was a coy smile, she leaned forward and draped her arms around his neck. He stiffened._

_"You just spilled wine down my back," he said softly, mouth twitching like it did when he was trying not to laugh. She traced his lips with one finger and gave a little shrug._

_"Forgot to put my glass down," she explained seriously, remedying the problem with the utmost concentration._

_"Really, Arryn, let me take you back," T'ran suggested, taking her arms and extracting himself from her embrace. He kept hold of one wrist. "I really think you should call it a night."_

_She frowned. Why hadn't he kissed her?_ Everyone_ wanted to kiss her tonight. And she let them—well, not all of them, and most on the cheek, like a brother, but still…she wanted T'ran to kiss her and he hadn't. It was a puzzle she couldn't work out. She shook her head. "Don't care what you think. Why din' you kiss me?" she demanded._

_"Arryn, what's gotten into you? Just listen to yourself," T'ran said, his dark eyebrows drawing together in a silent plea. "Honestly, come here and I'll walk you to your weyr." He tugged gently at her wrist. That made her angry. She was a full dragonrider, and he was telling her off like she was a child, tugging at her wrist like she was some wherry to be led around dumbly! With a flash of her eyes she jerked her hand out of his grasp._

_"I can take care of myself," she said with as much chill as she could muster. "You led me on," she continued accusingly._

_"Arryn—" T'ran began, but she cut him off._

_"No," she said loudly. "You were th'one…almost kissed, y'know, back with the no shirt and me all confused and all…" She trailed off and looked at him. "Now y'won't, not when I want to."_

_"You're _drunk_," T'ran tried to explain desperately._

_Arryn ignored him. Didn't he know that she could very well tell when she was drunk? This was just a bit of fun, a few glasses in celebration, her head all fuzzy and floating. "Y'won't kiss me, I'll find someone who will," she finished in determination, her anger all hot and frothing in her chest. With a flourish she turned to the man sitting next to her, who was talking to someone else, but she tapped him on the shoulder. He turned toward her. She smiled at him—he was good-looking, cleaner-cut than T'ran, a golden boy: golden hair and deep, dark eyes. Scar across one cheek. She traced it with a finger and he caught her hand, smiling roguishly. Here was a man who wasn't afraid of her. Some part of her mind said she ought to recognize him. She concentrated for a moment and then grinned. K'lin. Bronze-rider. Good._

_"Would you like to kiss me?" she asked K'lin. He smiled, cheeks flushed with the heat of the room and more than a few glasses of wine. _

_"Who wouldn't?" the Wingsecond replied, his gaze taking in the pretty green-rider swaying on her stool—and the Ista boy glaring at him stormily a step away._

_"Well then, why don't you?" the young woman asked guilelessly._

_So he stood and took her face in his hands—wind-roughened skin, flushed cheeks, hazy green eyes—and he did. He kissed her long and deep, tasting salt and wine on her lips. She gave a little sigh of contentment against his mouth and settled into him, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. Neither noticed the grey eyes watching them, the eyes that at first were shocked, incredulous, wounded—and then hard as flint, catching the dim light as he turned away._

_"Let's find somewhere better," suggested K'lin breathlessly, despite the fact that there were really no rules against such public displays when there was such celebrations. Granted, it wasn't really considered proper, but there was no-one in the room who hadn't had a few glasses and wasn't feeling rather benevolent tonight._

_"Mmm," murmured Arryn. She was trying to understand the rush that went to her head when his lips touched hers…K'lin, the wingsecond…the handsome untouchable bronzerider…They stood and made their way to an adjacent room, one that was somehow empty…it was darker and quieter…and afterwards he was very kind and helped her back to her weyr, very sweet with his arm about her waist, steadying her, and then sweeping her up into his arms when she really couldn't walk any farther…_

"Oh, shards," moaned Arryn again. Now, in the light of morning, mostly sober—actually, completely sober, just with a hangover—she cringed. And cringed again. Then she threw up in the wash-basin, retching miserably as her stomach rebelled against both the wine and her roiling emotions. As she wiped her lips and picked up the bowl to wash it out, hot tears spilled over and wet her cheeks. She put down the basin and cried. Maventh flew to the ledge and stuck her head into the weyr, trying to fit into the confined space, wriggling and crooning and caressing Arryn with her head like she hadn't done since they'd both been weyrlings.

_It will be all right, _Maventh kept repeating, her eyes whirling vivid with concern. _Please don't cry any more. What can I do? Can I do anything? Please don't cry, it will be all right._

Arryn shook her head miserably. "There's nothing you can do, Maventh," she snuffled miserably. "Unless you can turn back time…" She stiffened. Timing it! Was that the answer? Then she remembered the rule that she couldn't see herself in the past…the chaos that would result…and she sank down again into her wretched stupor, cursing the Tillek wine and K'lin and herself and the Fall and, oh, everything! Why had she acted like such a wherry-headed, stupid, stupid weyrling?

And T'ran…she just wanted to curl up into a ball and _die_ when she thought of what he must think of her now…

Maventh _squealed _ in utter terror and scrabbled at the walls of the weyr, trying to wrap herself around Arryn. _NO! No no no no no! Please don't! Please don't leave me! _

Arryn wrapped her arms around Maventh's neck and cried harder. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't even mean it when I thought it, I'd never leave you, I won't ever think that again, I'm sorry. I love you so much, Maventh, I love you. I won't ever leave you. _

_ I love you too, _ Maventh replied, calming somewhat. They sat with each other for a while. For a long time, Arryn supposed, because she got hungry, ignored her stomach's rumblings and it went away…She rested her forehead against Maventh and drifted in and out of sleep, her eyes swollen and sore from so much crying.

"Um, can I get past please?"

Lira. She didn't want to face her. But it was her weyr too. She sat up groggily and Maventh started to wriggle her way backward.

_I think I'm stuck_, Maventh said in a small, plaintive voice. That drew a watery smile out of Arryn. She went and got the oil and between her and Lira they managed to grease Maventh enough that she could slither out. Lira's face fell when she saw Arryn.

"Oh, I knew something was wrong," she said vehemently.

Arryn nodded miserably.

"Last night?"

Another, smaller, more embarrassed nod.

"Tell me."

Arryn looked down at her hands. She wasn't sure…

"Please? Maybe I can help." Lira said it so earnestly. And she sat down on the bed by her weyrmate.

"All right," Arryn said dismally. "It's rather a long story."

One she didn't quite want to tell just yet, but she did, and was exhausted by the end of it. She didn't know how to fix it. It wasn't simple. And to make it all the more complicated there was a Fall the day after tomorrow. She sighed in frustration. Well, take it one step at a time, she reasoned, and maybe things will work themselves out.

"Arryn!" V'remnar skidded into the weyr without so much as a cursory knock. "I heard about last night! And shards, but you've gone and made a mess of things!"

Arryn looked at him, then groaned and buried her face in her hands.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hmm, so here's another chapter for you to chew on. More delicious character drama. But don't worry, there'll be some dragon action back in the thick of things soon!! Oh, and please review? **

**--Arwen, out!--**

Arryn looked at him, then groaned and buried her face in her hands. She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks, thinking fiercely that she _would not_ cry anymore about all of the whole mess, it made no sense, it didn't accomplish anything at all. Taking a deep breath, she looked at V'remnar and asked shakily, "What did he say?"

V'remnar made himself comfortable on a ledge before replying. "Well, I had to pry it out of him, really. He stormed back from the party, y'know, wouldn't really talk to me. Went straight for the spirits." He made an expressive face of disgust. "Honestly, he had to go and drink my best whiskey. Couldn't go find some cheap stuff. Oh, no."

"Just get on with it," Lira interrupted with uncharacteristic impatience. Arryn gave her a half-smile of thanks.

"Well, he got himself roaring drunk, and he was all over the place, like sad one moment and angry the next."

"Like most drunk people," muttered Lira through her teeth, obviously restraining herself from rolling her eyes at V'remnar.

"Finally got it out of him when he started to sober up, about you and K'lin," finished V'remnar anticlimactically.

"That's it?" Arryn asked. "Didn't he say anything else?"

"Mostly just sat there and drank himself into a stupor," confided V'remnar with a tragic shake of his head. "It was really quite pathetic. I told him he should have just punched K'lin."

"Oh, I'm sure that would've been a very good solution," snapped Arryn acidly. Maventh rumbled in irritation out on the ledge."Punching a wingsecond, yes, that would've done wonders for T'ran's reputation."

V'remnar put up his hands. "Hey, hey, relax. Shards, don't shoot the messenger." He shook his head. "All I'm saying is, I told T'ran it's his fault anyway."

"Oh, and I'm sure he really appreciated—wait, what?" Arryn cut herself off in confusion, frowning as she looked at V'remnar.

"Well," he said with an air of reason, spreading his hands on his knees, "I knew he fancied you, _he _knew he fancied you, shards, _you_ probably even knew he fancied you, and he didn't do anything about it." He shrugged. "That's the results of apathy for you."

"T'ran—he wasn't—_apathetic_," Arryn spluttered. "How can you _say _that? I was the one who got drunk and kissed another man—shards, a _wingsecond_!"

"Was that all you did?" V'remnar asked frankly. "Kissed?"

"I—_yes, that's all we did_," Arryn snapped angrily. There was an angry hiss from outside the weyr. "Why should I be telling you this anyway?" she demanded, standing and putting her hands on her hips, eyes flashing.

V'remnar shrugged almost lazily, smiling, unperturbed by her show of temper. "You don't really have to tell me anything. I'm just a friend, trying to help." He grinned and leaned forward. "But to be honest, I _am _quite curious as to what _really_ happened between the 'pretty little greenrider' and the mighty wingsecond."

Arryn wrinkled her nose in disgust and irritation. "Well, I'll tell you. I was drunk, he was drunk, he kissed me, and we kissed for—for a long time, all right, but that's all it was. I swear." She crossed her arms and raised her chin challengingly, as if daring him to question her account.

"All right, all right, I surrender," V'remnar conceded teasingly, raising his hands with an expression of mock terror.

"You're treating this whole thing as if it's one big joke," accused Arryn, taking a threatening step toward him. She was not feeling very charitable toward meddling friends at the moment.

"Sorry," apologized V'remnar. He winced under her glare.

Arryn sighed and ran her hands through her hair in irritation. "Is T'ran still at your weyr?"

"Yes," replied V'remnar. "Though I'd bet he has a beastie of a headache."

"That's rather a given," replied Lira. "Speaking of which, I'll go get you something for yours," she said to Arryn with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Thanks," muttered Arryn, mulling over her options in her mind…Fall the day after tomorrow…and Maventh rising within the month…she sighed in frustration. The universe was conspiring against her, she was sure of it. Lira returned with some vile-smelling concoction, which Arryn gulped down without so much as a single complaint—her head was throbbing abominably. "Do you have another glass of this, by any chance?" she asked blearily. "I'm going to go visit T'ran."

"Here. Just mix these into a glass of water, or klah if you like." Lira pressed a little packet of powdered herbs into Arryn's hand. "At least let me braid your hair for you."

"All right," she consented miserably, shutting her eyes as Lira worked the knots and snarls out of her hair and deftly plaited it.

"Good luck," her weyrmate murmured.

"Thanks." She stood and brushed off her tunic. "Are you going back, V'remnar?"

His eyes widened at the prospect of witnessing the reunion that would take place in his weyr. "Ah. Ahem, well, actually, I was—er—planning to, ah, oil Devarith," he finished lamely. Arryn raised her eyebrows at him. All three knew very well that their dragons required no more than five minutes' oiling at a time, now they were fully grown. But she merely nodded and walked out of the weyr.

Maventh swung her head toward Arryn as she negotiated the weyr ledge, stepping over a slumbering Baerth's tail and squeezing between her dragon and the wall. _Are you all right now? _

_ No, _ replied Arryn shortly. _I'm going to go talk to T'ran. Ereth's rider. _

_ I know very well who T'ran is, for all you think about him, _Maventh replied edgily, her eyes whirling a half-agitated shade of red and yellow.

_Sorry, Mav, I'm just…really not in the mood to talk about it right now. Because if I talk about it, I'll cry, _she confided, pinching the bridge of her nose fiercely with one hand.

_It will be all right, _ Maventh said with confidence, nudging at Arryn tenderly with her nose. _I promise. _

Arryn half-smiled and teasingly pushed Maventh's nose away. _Aw, mother wherry, I'm not _that_ upset. _Maventh gave her a plainly disbelieving look. _All right, I'm not that upset _anymoreshe amended. _But I do need to go talk to T'ran. I think that should make things better. _

_ You are young yet. You will make mistakes, _ Maventh said sagely.

_All right, all right, I know, _ Arryn replied in exasperation. _ Don't pull the high and mighty dragon act on me, Mav. I know people make mistakes. _She made a face. _It's just so much harder when I'm the one making them. _With a sigh, she gave Maventh a preoccupied pat and continued picking her way down the ledge, trying not to disturb Baerth as she clambered awkwardly over his sleeping form. _Great lump, _she thought affectionately when he stirred and sent out a sleepy inquiry, settling again when he found it was only her.

As she walked toward the bronzeriders' weyrs, she couldn't help but mull over the events of the past night, turning them over and over in her mind until she felt like she was reliving every agonizing moment. Granted, K'lin's kisses had been rather pleasant, but had she really been in any state to judge that in the first place? And did he genuinely like her, or was it just the wine talking, when he had taken her face in his hands and gazed hazily into her eyes…

Now that she thought of it, she remembered the expression on T'ran's face when she'd turned away from him to K'lin—the raw emotions that had roiled in his eyes when the other rider had kissed her. It made her squirm inside, and her cheeks burned, despite the fact she was merely thinking about it…Shards, but this was going to be hard, if she blushed this fiercely when it was just her alone, just _thinking_ about it all…

"Well, well, look who we have here."

The slow, disdainful drawl caught her off guard, wrapped up as she was in her own thoughts. She halted abruptly as a figure emerged from a nearby weyr, cutting off her path, and she held back a growl of frustration when she glimpsed the rider's face.

"The whole weyr's simply _buzzing_ about you," said P'tar, smiling nastily as he crossed his arms and stepped closer. He wore his shoulder-knots—brown-rider, Arryn refreshed her memory—with an obvious swagger.

She contemplated answering him, but then decided to simply stand and gaze at him silently. But although her cool, diffident demeanor had been successful in thwarting P'tar's proddings in the past, it seemed as though he had grown a thicker skin, or acquired more patience. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a very, very bad thing.

"You know, I don't think you could have picked a better rider to set your sights on," he continued conversationally. "K'lin…bronze-rider, wingsecond…" He nodded thoughtfully, as if contemplating K'lin's virtues. "Perhaps you should have gone after the Weyrleader, though. Rumor has it, he doesn't have much, ah, _zest for life_ after his recent illness. Seems the Weyrwoman isn't of much…_interest_…to him anymore." He lifted an eyebrow and surveyed Arryn, that characteristic rake of his eyes that left her feeling bare and exposed. "Maybe something _novel_ would catch his eye." He nodded and his eyes swept over her again. Arryn could feel a flush creeping up the back of her neck and fought to keep it under control—she would not let him see her anger.

"You know, _Arryn_…" He stepped closer, and she fought the urge to back away. His breath brushed her cheek. "Your green…Maventh, isn't it?..." His lips curved. "She's due to rise soon, am I correct—ah, no need to tense up, my dear. It's just that…you know, the riders…they've been discussing you." Another sweep, another moment of nakedness in front of those knife-edge eyes. "Some are even placing bets on who's going to bed you."

Arryn's mouth thinned and she trembled as she pushed down the urge to punch P'tar in his leering face. But then she had a thought…_beat him at his own game._ "Oh, really?" she purred sweetly, smiling. "How…_scintillating._ Who is winning, if I may ask?"

P'tar looked at her, his eyes flashing in surprise, but then he smiled. "Well, there's a rather large pool, if you take my meaning. But, as far as I can tell, it's the wingsecond, myself, V'remnar, T'rellan, R'stal, B'nest and the Ista rider," he finished with obvious distaste. "There are others, of course, but those are the frontrunners, not necessarily in that order, mind you." It was clear who he thought was the frontrunner by his cocky smile.

Arryn mentally copied the list P'tar had just uttered, tucking it away clinically in her memory, to be examined and exclaimed over at a later time. Now she needed all her wits about her in order to make her next move in this careful, dangerous game she was playing. "Oh, I'm sure there are others," she said silkily, narrowing her green eyes in what she hoped was a sultry manner. There was a change in P'tar's eyes, she realized, and it confused her. He wasn't looking at her in that predatory manner anymore…it was more of an earnest desperation.

"You know," he said in a different voice after an awkward pause, "I'm not…I'm not the idiot who hit you in the tunnels before the Hatching anymore."

Arryn drew back, wrinkling her nose in confusion at the open honesty on P'tar's face. This was—this was her old nemesis, her sworn enemy…wasn't he? But without the nasty smirk and the childlike expressions of spite written across his features, P'tar was rather…handsome, in his own way. "I…what? I'm sorry, I don't quite understand."

"Well," he shifted uneasily. "I suppose…I just wanted…to say that I was going through a lot, and I didn't really have ahold of myself, those months when I first knew you."

"Going through a lot?" Arryn repeated dumbly.

"Yes," P'tar replied with a little nod. "You see," he continued in a quieter tone, "my older sister…she died a few weeks before the Hatching. I was just…angry. Furious, really. I didn't understand it at all."

Arryn's mind was whirling. This was more than she could take—P'tar, sensitive and apologetic?

"I still don't," he continued, "but…I just thought I'd tell you." He gave a little shrug, as if to dismiss his admission.

"That doesn't really excuse your behavior," Arryn said before she could stop herself. She was bristling; she couldn't help it, she didn't know how to deal with this new nemesis in front of her.

"I know," he admitted, so softly she almost couldn't hear him. "But, the Fall the other day…" In one motion, he lifted his tunic, baring his side. Arryn winced in distaste, but then saw the bandage. "I was too slow and got scored. Nothing but a little scratch, really, but there I was, panicking and screaming because of the blood." He gave a little self-deprecating laugh. "I thought I was dying. And then I just…" His face went still and solemn. He looked at her so earnestly she couldn't meet his eyes. "I felt so much regret. I've been horrible, really, to nearly everyone. And I thought, I thought that if I could just tell a few people…how sorry I was…" He shrugged again, almost helplessly, and went to turn away. "I don't know. It's stupid."

"No…" Arryn looked at him. "It's actually quite…quite good of you, I think." She smiled. "Startling, I'll admit, but good."

They looked at each other for a moment and then he cleared his throat. "Well, just don't go spreading it around, all right?" he said gruffly. "Can't have the blue-riders getting all uppity with me."

"Or the green-riders, for that matter," parried Arryn tartly.

"Or the green-riders," agreed P'tar. "Now then, I know I'm handsome but are you going to stand there ogling me all day or can I get past?"

"My apologies, your highness," retorted Arryn with her usual bite, and he pushed past her, his customary smirk back in place. With a sigh and a little shake of her head, she refocused on her goal: _Go talk to T'ran. _Another sigh. It was already shaping up to be a very long day. Very long indeed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Here we are again...and thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and especially reviewing...I honestly want to know what you think of my writing, y'know, so I can make it better and whatnot...just humor me. Anyway, here is the much-anticipated confrontation between Arryn and T'ran...I'd actually meant this to be more of an action and less of a drama chapter, but my characters ran away with me. ( Arryn gives author a smug smile). Nonetheless I hope it's up to par!**

**Arwen, out!**

To her immense relief, Ereth was nowhere in sight as she approached T'ran's weyr. She didn't know whether her actions had affected the bronze as well as his rider, but with everyone being all edgy around her and Maventh lately, she didn't doubt it; and she wasn't sure she was up to dealing with an irate bronze at the moment. It was all she could do to summon the courage to knock politely at the entrance.

For a moment there was no answer, but then there was the sound of someone coming toward the entrance, and Arryn's courage failed her. She looked at the ground and said shakily, "I know I've been a complete and utter wherry-headed fool, and I'm so very sorry." She paused for a breath, noting with some detached amusement that her hands shook as she clasped them demurely in front of her. In that moment, the person in front of her cleared his throat—and it wasn't T'ran. With a little jump she looked up and found herself face to face with H'rath. She felt the blood rushing across her face as she started to stammer in stunned embarrassment. But the older rider put his hand up, his eyes compassionate.

"It's all right," he said softly with a small smile.

"I'm confused," Arryn admitted. Her mind whirled as she put together the pieces. "Are you—is T'ran—I…" She gave up trying to articulate the half-formed question tumbling sickly around in her stomach. H'rath gave her an equally confused look. "It's just that—it's, um, rather unusual to find, um, greenriders, in a bronze's…I just, you know, didn't know you and T'ran, ah, knew each other…or, I guess, are, um, such good friends." A memory of T'ran, his grey eyes smoky still with sleep and his long bare torso gleaming in the half-light, surfaced in her mind and she gave a despairing groan. It was all too much for her poor head, still aching from the Tillek wine despite Lira's homemade remedy. "I'll...I'll just go and leave you…you two…alone." She trailed off, turning to leave. Run, actually. That's what she felt like doing, putting aside the fact she was quite sure her coordination was still not yet up to par.

H'rath reached out and took her arm. She looked back at him with glazed eyes. He sighed and smiled again and ushered her forward a few steps, away from the entrance and a little way out onto the ledge. "Arryn, I don't think that this is what you're assuming." He paused, as if trying to find the right words, then rolled his eyes and shook his eyes. "Shards, I swear, everyone thinks that if a male greenrider's in some other rider's weyr, they're lovers. Can't I just be visiting a friend? I know his parents, you know." He glanced at Arryn's shocked expression. "Or I suppose you didn't. But I swear, we're just friends. Don't _you_ go getting all depressed too."

"Sorry," apologized Arryn. There was a glint in her eyes that could have been the beginning of a smile. "There's just been a lot happening this morning that I can't quite grasp."

"One of those mornings, eh?" H'rath asked sympathetically. He glanced back toward T'ran's weyr. "Well, how about you and I go grab some breakfast and I'll give you the inside information on how our golden boy's doing."

"I was going to go talk to him," protested Arryn as H'rath steered her away from the weyr.

"Trust me, he just went to sleep. You won't want to bother him for a couple of hours, not til his head's settled. Have some compassion, woman," reprimanded H'rath teasingly. "The poor boy was beside himself all last night and drank far too much spirits for his health."

Arryn made a sound of disgust. "I'm getting tired of hearing this sympathetic 'poor boy' nonsense. What about me? I'm in a right mess, and no-one seems to care," she complained, sounding like a petulant child even to her own ears as they arrived at the dining hall and found a nice, deserted table in a shadowy corner. H'rath brought her some hot klah and she took a big swallow, scalding her tongue.

"Well," said H'rath reasonably, "you _were_ the one who was out and about last night, snogging wingseconds and all."

"I was not—I just _kissed _him, by Faranth's egg, aren't I allowed to kiss someone in a moment of drunken stupidity without having the whole weyr telling me about this poor, poor rider drowning his sorrows in spirits all night, poor boy, look how she's hurt him." Arryn gulped down the rest of her klah and fairly slammed the cup down. Her hands were shaking again. She clenched them into fists in her lap to hide it, sitting stiffly in front of H'rath's calm, steady gaze.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't have kissed K'lin. It's done and over with. No use crying over spilt klah. And I'm not saying you did anything wrong. It wasn't wrong. It was you, being a young, pretty green-rider having had a little wine after your first Fall."

"I wish everyone would stop calling me that," Arryn muttered sulkily.

"Calling you what?" asked H'rath patiently.

"The pretty little green-rider," she replied.

"All right then. It was you being eighteen and kissing someone. It's really not the end of the world." H'rath shrugged. "I don't know why you're acting as though it is. It doesn't have to be a bigger deal than you make of it."

"But…everyone in the weyr is talking about me, and T'ran is angry at me, and K'lin…I don't even know what he must think of me," said Arryn miserably.

"Well. First of all, there will always be insufferable gossips hanging about the weyr. Know why? They think it's terribly glamorous to be a dragon-rider and so they love finding fault with us. Secondly, T'ran is not angry at you. I talked to him. Trust me, he's just a young man who's just had his pride pulled out from under him. His vanity's a little crushed too, I think, but there's nothing wrong with him that a little time and patience won't fix. And about K'lin…well, let's just say he's kissed many, many people, not all of them pretty young greenriders," he finished with a meaningfully raised eyebrow. "It's just his personality. He'll have some new arm-candy at the next feast, don't you worry." H'rath fixed a keen eye on her. "Unless that stings _your_ pride."

She made a face at him. "A little. But mostly I just want this whole beastly business to be over and done with."

"In time, it will be," H'rath said. "Do you want a pastry? I'm starving. I swear, giving out this much advice is harder work than you'd ever imagine."

Arryn suppressed a laugh as H'rath went to raid the kitchens. Then she sighed and looked down into her empty klah cup. H'rath was right. She was glad she had such a friend. "No more gloom and doom," she ordered herself sternly. "Take it like a rider. Chin up, chest out and shoulders back."

She whiled away the rest of the morning, staying to talk with H'rath a bit more…just everyday conversation, about Plenneth and Maventh, and the everyday happenings of the weyr, the impending Fall. Nothing of consequence, really. Then H'rath excused himself, saying goodbye with a kindly pat on her arm, rather like an affectionate older brother, Arryn thought fondly as she watched him make his way toward the caverns. Then she sighed. Time to go face the dragon in his own cave. Or weyr. So to speak, anyway.

"Hello?" she called softly, standing at the entrance of T'ran's weyr armed with a reconciliatory pastry she'd snitched from the baskets in the kitchen. "Anyone home? It's Arryn." There was a careful silence from inside the weyr. Fine. She'd do it his way. "Look, T'ran, I know you're in there. And you must have a terrible headache. So I brought you some of Lira's remedy—it really works. Trust me," she said wryly. "And I brought you a pastry, too," she added hopefully. " I'll eat it myself if you don't come out." There was motion inside the weyr. Her heart was thudding painfully but her hands were steady as the shadowy figure resolved itself into T'ran, looking thoroughly the worse for wear. She couldn't help but feel sympathetic; just a cursory glance was enough to take in the deep, bruise-like circles under his eyes and the thin, unhappy set of his mouth. He adopted a casual air as he came closer to her, as if trying to convince her that nothing at all was wrong with him.

"Look, I'm sorry," she plunged right in. "I was stupid, all right? I'd had too much wine, I should have listened to you, but I didn't. And I'm sorry."

He looked surprised for a moment, then wary. "You're sorry you kissed K'lin?"

The question was double-edged. "No. I liked it," Arryn replied bluntly. She refused to lie to satisfy his manly pride. "But I'm sorry that I upset you because of it. And I'm sorry that neither of us had the courage to say anything before this," she continued pointedly. "If I'd said something before—or if you'd said something before, this whole mess wouldn't have happened. Well, it might have, because I still would have been drunk. But you know, I think I was trying to get a rise out of you."

"Really. Trying to get a rise out of me," he said darkly.

"Yes," she said fiercely, raising her chin, "because you're always so sharding inscrutable and I don't understand you. You almost kissed me, the night after you got scored. I didn't understand why you never mentioned it, never tried it again."

He shrugged, still trying to maintain his aloof posture. "Maybe I just didn't feel like it."

"Oh, you didn't _feel _like it?" She shook her head. "Look, I don't know who you think you are, T'ran, but if you thought I was going to sit around for ages moping over you, waiting for you to make the first move, then you're wrong." Her eyes were blazing now. She could sense the situation spiraling out of her control, and some inner portion of herself groaned in frustration.

"Oh?" he raised a dark eyebrow. "Well, maybe I didn't make a move because I was absolutely and completely terrified."

"Terrified?" Arryn repeated. "Of _what_?"

"Of you, I guess." T'ran shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. All the older riders talking about you and paying you attention…I suppose I was intimidated."

"The older riders don't pay me any more attention than any of the other riders," Arryn protested, but they both know it wasn't true. She'd known from early on that she and Maventh were constantly under surveillance, the other, older riders watching them. At first it was simply because they wanted to see how they measured up, how Maventh measured up to the other hatchlings, really, but then after they'd graduated into full riders, she'd realized the interest had changed and become more than a simple fascination with the 'freak' of the clutch. "And anyway, why would it matter? That's completely ridiculous. You're a bronze-rider too."

"Yes, but…" He shrugged. "You can have other bronze-riders. Wingseconds, even." He tried valiantly to hide the bitterness in his voice, and failed miserably.

"Why don't you leave the decision of who I can 'have' and who I cannot to me," Arryn suggested. She'd meant to say it icily, but it came out as more of a pleading request, and she realized she really wasn't angry.

T'ran must have realized it as well, because he nodded, and said in a softer voice, "I should have. I'm sorry too."

There was a pregnant pause. Then Arryn said, "Well, I'm glad the awkward apologies are over. For now at least."

T'ran grinned. "That goes double for me."

"Here. Take your pastry. It's a pastry of forgiveness," Arryn explained with an air of sensibility. "And here's Lira's cure-all. Put it in some klah or something. You make horrible klah anyway, you won't be able to tell the difference."

"Thanks." T'ran took her offerings and instead of turning around and going back into his weyr, as Arryn expected, he stood and simply gazed at her. There was something mesmerizing about his grey eyes—they held her rooted to the spot. He leaned forward and gently—almost timidly—placed his lips upon hers. It was so different from K'lin's practiced kisses that it took Arryn's breath away. She was smiling when he drew away.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, at the Fall," he said.

"Tomorrow? The Fall's not supposed to start until the day after tomorrow, I thought," she said.

"They adjusted the time-table, didn't you hear? Correcting for longitudinal error, or something like that," he explained, taking a bite of the pastry. "This is really good," he added. She grinned.

"Go eat it." She shooed him back into his weyr and her grin faded into a small, almost smug smile. Lira remarked upon it when she arrived back at her weyr.

"Everything go all right with T'ran?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, everything is…fine," Arryn replied, drawing it out deliberately to tease her nosy weyrmate. She felt Maventh poke at her memories, demanding to know what happened, and she happily let her dragon rifle through the events of the morning, feeling her pause smugly at the moment T'ran kissed her.

_I knew it,_ Maventh said. _I would say I told you so, but I don't remember whether I ever actually did. _

_ You can leave that up to Lira,_ thought Arryn, meeting her friend's dancing eyes with a smile. _Now then, do you want to go take a bath or do you want some flying practice in before tomorrow's Fall? _

_ Flying practice, _Maventh replied promptly, as Arryn knew she would.

"I'll be back later," she told Lira, who waved goodbye to her cheerily.

Arryn hefted her riding gear and walked happily out onto the ledge. _You know, _she said conversationally as she tightened the gear's straps, _I don't think I really care about last night anymore. _

_ Good, _Maventh replied decisively. _That means we can focus on the Fall tomorrow. Can I do some speed-work? _

_ Of course, if you like, _Arryn replied, swinging herself up onto Maventh's neck and grinning in anticipation. Speed-work was by far her favorite form of flying, and Maventh was getting increasingly faster as time went on. She supposed it was because her lovely dragon had the size of a brown but the lighter bone structure and more lithe form typical of her color. After adjusting the laces of her wher-hide vest, she double-checked her straps and leaned down closer against Maventh's neck, preparing for the rush of takeoff.

_All right, _she said. _Let's go, love. _

Maventh pushed off the weyr ledge and with a mighty rush of air her great wings were open and they were slicing through the sky. Arryn pressed herself against her dragon's neck, glorying in the thrill of flight and the rush of speed, in all that it was to be a dragonrider.


	14. Chapter 14

**Action chapter! Yay! But just to forewarn you, I might not be a very popular author when this chapter is over. (Bwahaha). Just remember, throwing things at your computer screen will only result in a broken computer. And it will probably make you angrier at me. Anyway, I enjoyed writing this chapter, I hope you enjoy reading it as well! Oh, and if you do...take five seconds and hit the little button down at the bottom of the page. I'm begging you. Please.**

**Arwen, over and out!**

**Oh, ps--wasn't quite sure how to spell the substance that runs the flamethrowers--took a stab at it, but it's probably not right. Please don't eat me.**

The briefing before the Fall was much more solemn than usual. The riders were silent and stone-faced. Arryn, her headgear held under her arm, listened with a heavy heart as her wingleader went over the risks and dangers specific to a Fall at this time of year. Last night had been their first frost, and so the weather would be a detrimental factor in their flight…wear extra layers…Arryn frowned. It was so hard to focus, despite the subdued atmosphere. Her mind kept wandering to the events of the previous day, but she couldn't think about it directly. Every time someone began to speak of it, or even think of it, it felt like skidding on ice, waving her arms frantically to regain balance. She supposed the whole weyr felt it, especially the older riders.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the windows of the Gathering Hall. It was a new addition, built in the last Threadless Turns before this Fall had begun, when a few ingenious riders had taken it upon themselves to design a great hall large enough to hold all the riders of the weyr, where the briefings before Falls could take place. She mentally thanked them; if not for the Hall, they would all be huddled about their wingleaders in the Weyrbowl, the rime of early frost crunching under their boots. Glancing about, she picked out her friends among the gathered weyr: Lira, her golden hair braided and wrapped about her head like a warrior's helm, listening grimly to I'tar; Sh'len, the calm one, his face devoid of emotion, wearing the shoulder-knots of an upper-wing brownrider; P'tar, in the same wing as Lira, pale and composed, for once; and T'ran, his grey eyes dark with emotion but standing carefully still and straight.

Everyone is looking at the bronze-riders now, Arryn realized, whether they mean to or not, and that includes the youngest ones. What a responsibility to bear. She sighted V'remnar, his face unusually bleak, and T'rellan, who as she watched bit his lower lip and tightened his grip on his headgear. They must be nervous, she thought, because I know I am. This was their real test, the test of the weyr, because they were needed desperately. But at the same time it was painful for the other riders to even look at them; Arryn understood the reason, but it was simply a harsh truth that she found hard to accept.

"All right," Arryn's wingleader finished. "We've about two hours until the Fall starts. I expect everyone to be formed up, ready to fly preliminaries in an hour. Dismissed."

With a murmur, the riders of her wing drifted away. She turned to go, but the wingleader started toward her.

"Greenrider Arryn," he said.

She halted obediently, carefully wiping all emotion from her face, blanking it out like erasing practice letters on a sand-table. Even so, she felt a twinge of compassion: K'lin had obviously taken the events of the previous day very hard, for he was paler than she'd ever seen him, and his eyes were bloodshot from sorrow and lack of sleep.

"Yes, wingleader?" she replied with quiet courtesy.

"I wanted to speak to you privately about the Fall today," K'lin said. "Concerning your particular ability."

A small knot of dread formed in Arryn's stomach. She hadn't attempted to use her ability since the fateful day of M'ran's first heart attack, and the raw pain and failure was still too fresh to think about comfortably. But she lifted her chin. She would not back down. They were part of M'ran and Orlith's legacy. "What do you need me to do?"

"Nothing too overpowering," K'lin assured her quickly. "It's just that, with…with the current circumstances, and the queen not exactly being up to her best…" He had to pause and clear his throat before continuing. "It would be a great help if you could assist the Weyrwoman and I in keeping count."

"Keeping count?" _Of what?_ Arryn wanted to ask.

"Of the casualties," K'lin explained. "Only dragons out of action," he amended hastily as her eyes widened. "We need an accurate count of how many in each wing are still in fighting form by the end of the Fall. That way, if any one wing is hit too hard during the Fall, we know which wing can spare dragons, and what color, and so on and so forth." He paused. "I'm not asking you to speak to every dragon. I'm just asking you to keep an ear open, so to speak. Usually it's very apparent when a dragon is injured."

"I know," Arryn said, almost snapping. Of course she knew. She'd had to figure out a way to block the cries of the scored dragons and riders from her mind during the last Fall. "Of course. Of course I can do that. Do you want me to report to Narenth…or…"

"Report to Pertanth, please," K'lin said grimly, and Arryn realized just how much help the great golden queen would be this Fall. "I don't think the Queen's wing should even be fighting this Fall," he continued unhappily, "but Linnara is insisting upon it. The greens and blues could well be used in other places, but she won't listen to reason." Then K'lin realized he was criticizing the leadership of the weyr in front of a mere green-rider, and closed his mouth hastily. "None of that is to be repeated."

"I understand, wingleader," Arryn replied with formal courtesy.

"Shells, you can drop the formality," K'lin snapped. Then he rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "I apologize, Arryn. Really, it's just been hard." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Your class had better fly brilliantly, you know. I think it will help some of the older riders, and Linnara, to see Orlith's last clutch do well."

Arryn's voice was tight with tears when she answered. "We will, K'lin. We'll fly well."

He gave her a nod. "Greenrider."

She bowed her head, not trusting her self-control. "Wingleader."

His footsteps echoed down the emptying hall. Arryn stood looking at the ground for another moment. Someone touched her arm.

"All right there, Arryn?" Sh'len asked, his brown eyes kind.

"I suppose," Arryn replied. "How's Kelath?"

"A little sad, just like everyone," said Sh'len as they began to walk from the Hall. "But I think the dragons understand better that it's no-one's fault and there's no use moping. They understand we need to concentrate on the Fall."

Arryn nodded. "Maventh was pretty upset yesterday, when…when it happened." Unwillingly, she remembered hearing the heartrending keen of the queen first—her _shriek_ when Orlith rose to go _between _for the last time. The wave of sorrow had hit her like a punch to the stomach. For a few hours the weyr had been in chaos, almost like the first time…except this time it was raw and real…She remembered the roaring cheer that had accompanied M'ran when his great bronze had taken to the air again, after his first illness. It seemed unfair, that he should be taken after battling back so spectacularly. She shivered.

"Cold?" Sh'len asked.

"Yes," Arryn answered. There were so many questions hanging over their heads now: who was to be the next Weyrleader? Would that mean that Narenth would clutch a queen egg, when she rose next? It had been over a turn, and some had speculated that the queen had not risen precisely because of M'ran's illness, but her last clutch, now almost full-grown, were magnificent enough to pass over the delay. No-one wanted to think it, much less say it, but perhaps the male had been at fault for not being virile enough to place a gold egg within Narenth. After all, they knew very little of _those_ matters when it came to the technical side of dragon genetics.

"Hm?" She realized belatedly that Sh'len had asked her a question.

"I said, are you nervous?"

"About what?"

He looked surprised. "Well, I was talking about the fall today, but I suppose you've other things to be nervous about too."

"Like Maventh rising," Arryn said frankly. By now she'd accepted it as a fact of life.

"Don't worry about that today," Sh'len advised in his calm, collected way. He was well-respected, even among the older riders, for his cool head, even when things were particularly stressful.

"I'll try not to," agreed Arryn. She couldn't afford to be distracted.

"C'mon, let's go grab a last cup of klah before prelims," suggested Sh'len.

"Good idea." Arryn followed him through the great double doors of the Hall, her stomach twisting uncomfortably at the thought of the Fall.

It was cold outside, even though the sun was approaching its zenith, hanging over the Weyrbowl and the assembled riders like a great coin. Arryn exchanged polite conversation with the greenrider beside her, her fingers traveling across Maventh's green hide by rote, checking each strap once and then again, pulling and tugging at the leather that would be her safety-stay up in the perilous world of the sky, where anything could happen in an instant. Experimentally, she let down the mental defenses she had long ago learned to build around her mind, and was rewarded by a tide of emotion from the gathered riders and dragons. She whittled the opening in her mind down until she could tune out the words and feelings of the other dragons, when she needed, and then turn back to them whenever necessary. It was almost like carrying on two conversations at once, or trying to watch two scenes in different plays simultaneously.

_I am always here for you,_ Maventh said, swinging her head about to gaze at Arryn lovingly. _If you need help, I am here. _

_I know, _Arryn replied, stroking her dragon's eyeridge in an unconscious gesture that comforted both of them. _And you know I'm always here for you. _

Maventh gave a little croon, bunted at Arryn carefully—oftentimes she still didn't realize her own strength—and then shifted her wings in a way that said, _Let's get down to business. _

At the signal from the wingleader, the riders of the upper sweeps mounted. This included mostly all the greens, but Arryn merely adjusted her cap again, tucking a flyaway back into her braid. She tugged on her gloves and waited, watching as the upper sweeps launched into the sky. Someone handed her a sack of firestone—she looked down and noted with surprise that it was a child. Well, not really a child, the lad looked to be about fourteen…but it still startled her that they had begun Searching for the next clutch already. And it reminded her that they were currently without a Weyrleader. With a smile at the lad, who grinned at her and bobbed his head in respect, she swung herself up onto Maventh's neck.

_Make yourself comfortable, _advised Maventh. _It's going to be a long Fall. _

_Aren't you the optimist, _replied Arryn. Nevertheless, she squirmed around until she was sure her legs wouldn't go numb for a few hours at least, and she situated the sack of firestone in her lap as well. _All right, I'm good. _

_Good, because they just signaled us, _Maventh said with barely concealed glee. They both still got excited when it came to flying and flaming and Falls. For a moment the pall of reservation and aloofness that Arryn had sensed over the dragons lifted as they sprang into the air, her ears filling with the sound of rushing wings. She tightened her grip on her riding straps as the cold air nipped at her lungs.

The wings were aloft and organized, and the wingleader of each section broadcasted the image of their starting point to all the riders. They blinked _between_ and arrived at the starting point with no mishaps. Arryn's teeth were chattering despite her heavy wher-hide vest and the extra fleece-lined tunic she'd decided to wear at the last minute. She was grateful that she had decided to spend the coin to get good, fleece-lined boots and thick riding gloves, as well as gauntlets that protected her forearms from the cold, as well as chafing and perhaps Thread. Though a bit unconventional, no-one could deny that her riding gear wasn't tailored for protection.

Arryn strained her eyes and sighted the silvery cloud approaching on the horizon, and the wheeling dragons of Ista Weyr flaming magnificently, winking in and out with practiced ease. She knew that Benden, though, still had the most dragons of any northern Weyr, with Narenth's latest clutch. A small swell of pride warmed her chest as she surveyed the gleaming colors surrounding her: green and blue above her, hovering in their sweep positions, and the green and brown and bronze below and beside her, their great wings moving in long, almost lazy strokes as the dragons eagerly awaited the arrival of their age-old nemesis in Benden territory.

From just to her left, R'sen, astride his green Rilith, pumped his fist in anticipation as the Thread neared. With a grin Arryn returned his gesture and Maventh had to restrain herself from bugling. The older riders shook their heads at the excitability of youth.

"Well, this is it," Arryn muttered as the front ranks readied themselves, riders passing chunks of firestone to their dragons. Maventh turned her head and Arryn obligingly supplied her with a large piece of stone. She'd been alarmed at how much stone Maventh had consumed at first, in the last Fall, but Maventh informed her primly that since she was as big as a brown, she would be eating as much stone as a brown, and it took a bit to get the fire hot anyway. After that, she would eat less stone.

Beneath her legs, she felt the rumblings deep within Maventh that signaled her dragon's readiness to flame. And just in time, for the silvery cloud engulfed the front ranks and swept back towards them. An ovoid of Thread tumbled toward them.

_Flame it before it bursts, _she said to Maventh, who obligingly produced a long, clean flame, incinerating the small pocket of Thread. The green dragon pumped her wings once so that the still-hot ashes of the Thread would not hit her rider. Arryn smiled a little at Maventh's over-protective thoughts, but then drew herself back to the task at hand and concentrated. She spread her net of awareness a little farther; it was harder than she'd expected, keeping track of the constantly moving dragons, each one like a small dot of light swimming behind her eyes. _Maventh, I need you to keep an eye out, _she told her dragon, who rumbled in acquiescence before flaming another patch of Thread.

She could feel the Queen's Wing down below with their agenothree flamethrowers, cleaning up the few wriggling strands of Thread that managed to evade the flames of the fighting dragons. Linnara and Narenth were certainly distracted; the queen was a tired, pale gold, and her flight was sometimes erratic, Arryn noted with concern. And two of the greenriders that had flown with the Queen's Wing for a few months were too heavy with child to even consider riding. But she could do nothing about it, and so she focused on the Thread at their level, digging in the sack for another piece of firestone when Maventh turned her head.

The Fall was going passing well. She kept track of most of the casualties, learning to differentiate between the dragons that winked _between_ to the Weyrbowl for a rest or a quick patch-up, and those who would likely not be able to return for the rest of the Fall. Almost halfway through the Fall, she reported to Pertanth that in all, there were four greens, five blues, three browns and two bronzes that would not be returning to action—fourteen in all, and none very badly wounded; not a bad number for such a prodigious amount of dragons in the sky.

_Do you need a rest, love?_ she asked Maventh, hanging on tight as her dragon executed a quick spin to avoid a stray Thread.

_No, _Maventh replied shortly, folding her wings abruptly and plunging into a short dive, pulling up to help Rilith flame a particularly large patch of Thread. R'sen and Rilith had taken one short break already, but Arryn still didn't like the green's color. With hand signals, she suggested to R'sen that they take another break, and he nodded in agreement, much to her relief. She inspected her own dragon, searching for signs of fatigue. Maventh was tired, yes, they all were, but she wasn't near a dangerous level of exhaustion yet. Arryn trusted that she knew her own limits.

Catching a firestone sack from one of the riders taking a turn ferrying, she tried to untie the knot keeping the sack closed, but her fingers were stiff and clumsy in their gloves. Muttering under her breath, she bent over the sack and pulled at the string, giving a little exclamation of triumph when the sack finally opened. Then, without warning, Maventh _rolled,_ flattening her wings tight against her back and corkscrewing to avoid several ovoids that had erratically coalesced near their position. Arryn yelped and almost dropped the firestone entirely as she grabbed for her riding-straps, feeling the heat of Maventh's flames on her face as she pressed herself against her dragon's neck.

"All right, Mav?" she gasped as they pulled out of the dizzying maneuver. "

_Only doing what needs to be done, _replied Maventh. _More stone, please._

As Arryn tossed a chunk of stone into Maventh's waiting jaws, she felt a prick of alarm from the Queen's Wing. She frowned.

"Oy! Arryn!"

She glanced to the side and caught an eyeful of bronze. Ereth and T'ran. The wings must really be getting mixed up, she thought ruefully, but then again Falls depended on each individual's skill as much as the cohesiveness of the riders as a unit. Instead of shouting back at T'ran, she bespoke Ereth. _Are you both all right or is there something wrong? _

_There is nothing wrong with us, _Ereth replied after flaming a patch of Thread. _T'ran merely wanted to ask after you. He saw you caught unawares by Maventh's excellent maneuvering. _

Maventh fairly glowed at the admiration in the bronze's comment.

_I'm fine, _Arryn told the bronze. _But I think something is wrong down in the Queen's Wing. Can you tell what it is, Ereth? _

The big bronze paused for a moment, implementing the bond that all the bronzes shared with their queen. _One of the wings is not flaming as they should, and the Queen's Wing is being overwhelmed, but Narenth and Linnara are too..distraught to notify K'lin. _

_Then I'll do it for them, _Arryn said grimly, finding Pertanth. She told K'lin of the troubles in the lower levels, then turned back to Ereth. _Can you and T'ran be spared from your wing for a bit? If the two of us run sweep just above the Queen's Wing that should take some pressure off until they're able to find reinforcements. _She told Pertanth of their plan and got K'lin's approval. _K'lin approves. He says he will send two others to help us. _

There was a pause as Ereth conferred with T'ran. _Very well. _

T'ran gave her an affirmative signal. She nodded and visualized the air just above the Queen's Wing. They slid into _between_ for just long enough for her to start shivering again, and then popped out above the Queen's Wing. A few riders looked up in surprise, but then the expressions on their faces changed to that of relief. Looks like they know what's going on as well as I do, thought Arryn grimly as Ereth appeared beside them.

They worked well together. A blue arrived to help them, and for a moment Arryn thought in excitement that it was Baerth, but it turned out to be an old blue, his hide crossed and crossed again by the white scars of Threadscores. Glancing down, Arryn saw the small figure of the Weyrwoman astride her great golden dragon, and when Linnara's face turned upward she somehow knew with complete certainty that the Weyrwoman was scowling angrily. She could feel the queen's dissatisfaction, and her deep sorrow and pain.

Narenth sighted a patch of Thread and winged toward it, faster than the other dragons of the wing could follow. In a moment of clarity and horror Arryn realized her intention. A glance at Linnara as they winged low proved her macabre thought right: the nozzle of Linnara's flamethrower was pointed downward, the safety catch still on, the Weyrwoman's face terribly pale and composed. The queen raced toward the Thread.

_Maventh! Ereth! Chirath! _she called the dragons by name desperately. _We have to stop them!_ Maventh flattened her wings to her back and they dove like an arrow. Bronze Ereth had sensed his queen's intentions at the same instant as Arryn, and he was already almost to the queen. Another terrible thought raced through Arryn's mind: would Ereth simply throw himself in front of Narenth, sacrifice himself for the great golden dragon? No, Ereth and T'ran were much smarter than that—they were angling so that they would cut below the Thread and block Narenth, able to flame the Thread safely without any danger to the queen or the rest of the dragons in the Queen's Wing. She hoped desperately that none of them would blink _between_ and emerge in front of T'ran and Ereth—that would be stupid, because Thread, especially Thread still in ovoids like this, was infinitely unpredictable.

She held her breath. They continued to dive after Ereth. The moment seemed to last forever, stretching taut with suspense and fear.

Ereth executed their intended move superbly, cutting off Narenth even as the great dragon bellowed in fury, flaming the Thread that had posed such a danger to the very future of Benden Weyr. Maventh pulled out of her dive and banked, flaming the Thread that had escaped Ereth's blast as she circled back toward the bronze. However, Chirath, the elderly blue, had other ideas. He sighted another pocket of Thread falling toward the Queen's Wing, and even as Narenth was still roaring her anger at Ereth, the blue blinked _between_.

"Oh, shards," said Arryn in shock. She could see it playing out in her head but was powerless to stop it. Ereth, uncowed by the queen's wrath, swung around to face the very pocket of Thread that Chirath intended to flame. As the bronze turned his head, Arryn screamed with all her might, _"Ereth! Don't flame!"_

T'ran's head jerked up toward her in surprise—then, in the next instant, all she could see what Chirath, blinking back into existence in the exact space that Ereth occupied. The blue crashed into the other dragon, and there was a chorus of bellows and screams—Arryn couldn't tell human from dragon, and she knew one was her own.

_Hold on,_ Maventh advised her grimly, and they were diving again, toward the entangled pair, desperately trying to reach them before the Thread. Chirath hadn't suffered the worst fate, he hadn't been flamed by Ereth, she thought in relief.

They reached the Thread and Maventh drew back her head to flame, but then suddenly threw herself into a roll, rapidly corkscrewing away from the Thread when she should have been flaming it. Something hissed by Arryn's ear. She wanted to scream in despair, but it was all she could do to clutch at the riding straps and not vomit. Faster than her rider could adjust, Maventh pulled out of the roll and was again winging toward Ereth and Chirath…dizzily Arryn blinked, and realized that something was horribly, horribly wrong with the two dragons. When in an instant it was clear, she screamed.

Some addle-headed rider had pointed their flamethrower at the Thread, not thinking of the backsplash of the deadly agenothree, not thinking of the stray Thread that would be missed by the flamethrower's sloppy flame. Not thinking. Not thinking of the damage it would do to the two dragons rendered immobile so close to the Thread.

Chirath was falling, green ichor dripping from his wings. His rider was unconscious. Or dead. Ereth had fared better, or at least she thought so from what she could see through her wind-blurred vision, but he was still entangled with the blue, being dragged down by the dead weight. _Go, Mav, go,_ she urged her dragon while frantically reaching out to Pertanth, telling K'lin of the desperate situation in a few short words.

Narenth could have helped them. Her great size could have helped to slow the descent of the two doomed dragons. But the queen had winked _between_—not for good, Arryn thought with an amount of bitterness that surprised even herself. Then she shouted. Ereth had managed to free himself from Chirath. With a heartrending croon for his rider, the blue slipped into _between_ for the last time.

Ereth was in bad shape. Maventh reached him as Arryn managed to make contact with the bronze. She waded through the pain and confusion, persuading him not to go _between_ until she talked to T'ran. Her heart lurched. T'ran was unconscious, limp against his dragon's neck—and even worse, his riding straps flapped loose, shorn through by Thread or flame or both. It was unbelievable that he hadn't fallen.

_Ereth,_ Arryn said urgently. _Ereth, you _must listen to me. _You can't go _between_ You _can't. _If you do, you'll lose T'ran. You'll lose him _between_ forever. _

_Then I'll go _between _forever, _the bronze countered weakly, his head dropping and his wings faltering.

_He's still alive, _Arryn said fiercely. _You'll kill him if you do that. Do you want to kill him? _

_NO_.

The dragon's reply almost knocked Arryn senseless. Then she saw T'ran, listing to one side, very close to falling from his dragon. _Maventh, Maventh, love, we have to do something! _

_We can catch T'ran when he falls, _Maventh said.

_What if I miss? _Arryn asked frantically.

_I won't let you miss, _Maventh said, but there was none of her usual confidence in her voice.

_I have an idea, _Arryn said suddenly. It was risky, but given the condition of both rider and dragon, anything was risky.

_Tell me what needs to be done,_ Maventh said promptly.

At Arryn's direction, Maventh quickly dove beneath Ereth. Arryn encouraged the bronze as he labored to keep himself in the air. When they were as far below the injured pair as possible, Maventh pumped her wings, flying upward with as much speed as possible.

_This might hurt, but I'm going to get T'ran, _Arryn assured Ereth.

_Do it, _the bronze replied wearily the instant before Maventh hit him.

The impact wasn't enough to injure either of them, but it was enough to push Ereth upward a small distance. Maventh flipped over—she'd rolled at the last second so Arryn wouldn't be crushed between the two dragons—and spread her wings, sliding one beneath Ereth in order to get as close as possible. Arryn stood in her riding straps, straining upward. _I can't reach him—Ereth is too big! _

_Have Ereth roll toward you, _Maventh suggested, her voice tight with strain. They were falling fast, the air rushing past at an alarming rate.

_Ereth! Tilt yourself toward me!_ Arryn called. The bronze summoned his remaining strength and obeyed. T'ran's limp form slid toward her—she caught hold of his shoulders—and then his foot caught, and Ereth was bellowing in pain, and Maventh was starting to flutter her wings anxiously—the ground was getting close, the treetops threatening—they needed to go _between_. But where? Arryn thought fast. If they merely went _between_ and emerged higher, that would solve their problems for a little while, but there was no guarantee of safety for any of them, in this risky of a jump—and with T'ran suspended, he could easily fall when they reemerged.

_Maventh, _Arryn said desperately as they hurtled toward the treetops. Then with a colossal effort she _shoved_ the image into Ereth's mind, shared it with Maventh, and just before they hit the trees, they blinked _between_.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello again! (waves cheerily at all the angry readers) I know I'm evil, I know, as some of you have told me. That's all right. Maybe you'll forgive me after this chapter. Again, the more reviews I get, the quicker I write...Enjoy!**

**Arwen, over and out**

Parrin looked up and shielded his eyes from the high noon sun. He paused, hoe in hand, as if listening for something very far away. He didn't know what it was, but there was a feeling in the air…a feeling of anticipation, he would say, if he had to put a name to it. It was somehow familiar. He leaned on the shaft of the hoe and unhooked his water-skin from his belt, taking a long swig as he tried to place the feeling, thinking hard about when he had previously felt the emotion.

"Parrin! D'you want some lunch?" called his wife from the front door, wiping her hands on her apron.

After a moment Parrin replied, "No, my dear, these plants will not sow themselves."

Ilena shrugged and smiled at her hardworking husband and went back inside, still twisting her hands in her apron. For some reason, she felt uneasy.

He had it! He felt as though he did before Threadfall, right before the great dragons of Benden came bursting out of nothingness. It was a tense feeling, watching the beasts flame the menace that could very well destroy his livelihood, his home, his very life if left unchecked.

But that was odd. That was very odd, because today Thread fell over the mountains, to the north, at the uppermost reaches of Benden territory. So no dragons would be filling the sky above his cottage this day.

Just as Parrin shook his head and took up his hoe again, a pair of dragons burst into the sky and fell like stones.

------------------------

In one moment they were hurtling down toward the trees, the bugles and cries of dragons and riders about them, a blurred accompaniment to their crisis, and Arryn was clutching at T'ran's shoulders desperately, trying to think through the waves of pain that crashed into her—whether it was her own pain or that of Maventh or Ereth or all three, she couldn't tell. Then, an idea hit her like a lightning flash, quick enough to shove the image into Ereth's mind and share it with Maventh and hope against hope that it could save their lives.

The cold of _between_ numbed her through and through as she gulped in her panicked breaths, her own heart pounding relentlessly in her ears. They were too long…four breaths, five, six…she reached out for Maventh desperately, afraid that they would be lost in the infinite cold and blackness forever…but at least if Maventh was with her, she could be complete…

_I will not fail you_,Maventh said, and with a great effort the green dragon _pushed_ them through into a silent blue sky, the brilliance of her green wings fading as she pulled Ereth through as well.

_T'ran, _Arryn thought in a panic—her hands were empty, and they were falling, wind screaming past, mingling with her own scream—

In the next moment, they plunged into the lake, the dragons creating a splash that sounded like an earthquake, a wave that rose up and up and broke over the shore like a floodtide. The water was cold, but not as cold as Arryn expected—she'd forgotten to take a breath, and the impact stunned her, as well as Maventh. They floated, surreally, suspended in the crystalline waters for what seemed an eternity. Then a great shudder passed through Maventh, nose to tail, and she swam upward, her body undulating beneath Arryn, her wings spread and sweeping through the water in mimicry of flight.

They surfaced just as they had plunged into the lake, with great gouts of water spraying up from about Maventh…and beside them, Ereth broke the surface as well. Relief flooded through Arryn as she gulped in air eagerly, ignoring the pain in her legs and chest. The cold of the water had numbed her hurts to a dull, persistent ache. All in all, she did not much mind it—they were all safe. Maventh scrambled for purchase on the rocks of the bank, lifting her wings clear of the water to regain her balance and showering Arryn with water. With a heave, Maventh made it to dry land and Arryn wanted to tumble down and kiss the earth. But her legs were numb from the flying and the cold, the straps of her riding-gear tight and swollen with lake-water. She twisted and looked back at Ereth, desperate for a glimpse of T'ran, even if he was still unconscious.

The space between Ereth's neck-ridges, where T'ran should have been, was empty.

"Maventh!" she cried out hoarsely. "We have to go back! We have to—" She scrabbled at her riding-straps with her aching fingers, breaking fingernails as she fumbled with the buckles and knots. "Shards—we have to go get him—_Maventh—" _Her pleas were fast becoming wails of frustration as she found herself trapped in her riding gear, her dragon too exhausted even to answer her with anything but a wordless croon of sorrow and apology. "He's still alive—Ereth's here, he's still alive—I have to—"

She ripped open her vest, reached inside for the pocket she had sewn into the tough leather, and unsheathed the small dagger she had hidden there. They weren't supposed to carry weapons during a Fall. They weren't supposed to, but she did.

There was a commotion farther down the shore. She paused, looking up from sawing at the first of her leg-straps. Her heart jumped again, painfully—because there was a solid-looking man stripping down to his shirtsleeves, a woman by his side talking to him hurriedly, giving advice, Arryn supposed—she watched, frozen, as the man walked out onto a rocky spar with quick, sure strides, his gaze fixed on something Arryn could not see, and dove into the lake.

She watched breathlessly, transfixed, as the man struck out with practiced strokes toward the place in the lake where bubbles still frothed from their sudden plunge. His brown feet kicked the air as he dove under. Arryn felt as though she would faint, her heart was hammering so hard against the side of her chest. The man came up, gasped a breath, and dove under again. Ereth was stirring beside her, and she quickly tried to soothe him, tried to assure him that his beloved rider would be fine. _See look, look, he just needs a bit of help to swim to shore, that's all, _she assured the bronze, who was mad with worry and self-deprecation and sorrow. _Maventh, can you help me?_ she asked desperately. Would a dragon unable to fly still go _between_ at the death of his rider, or was it too late already? Were the efforts of the stranger in the lake of no use at all?

Arryn fiercely shoved the questions from her mind and concentrated all her will on reassuring Ereth. The man dove a third time. He stayed under for three, four, five breaths, longer than they'd stayed _between _when Arryn had thought them lost, longer than Arryn thought it was possible for a man to hold his breath. The woman gave a little cry of apprehension and then shoved a hand against her mouth, twisting the other in her apron as her wide eyes watched the surface of the lake.

The man surfaced. Arryn let out a wordless exclamation, much like that of the woman, when she saw that the man had T'ran gripped to his side, his arm tight about the rider's chest.

It seemed to take an eternity for the man to swim back to shore, and more than once Arryn was afraid that T'ran's weight would drag him under—for T'ran wasn't moving, his dark hair plastered across his forehead, his skin a terrible pale blue-white. Ereth crooned and tried to move forward, but failed and watched miserably.

_Hold on, _Maventh almost whispered. With a colossal effort she stood and made her way past Ereth, toward the woman on the bank. She stretched her tail out over the water, and the man threw his free arm over it, breathing heavily. Arryn's eyes pricked with tears as Maventh used the last of her strength to lever T'ran and his rescuer to shore.

_You're brilliant,_ she said to Maventh, reaching out a hand to stroke her dragon's neck. _I love you. I love you so much. You're brilliant._

_I love you too,_ replied Maventh, her voice utterly weary. _I can't move anymore though. _

The man stood in the shallows and with a grunt of exertion picked T'ran up, cradling him like a child against his chest. Arryn resumed her efforts with her dagger and succeeded in cutting through her straps just as the man reached the woman—his wife, she suddenly knew—with T'ran in his arms. Leaving the unconscious rider to his wife, the man then turned and, still dripping, fearlessly approached Maventh, gave a little bow of respect to the green dragon, and reached up for Arryn. She gave a little cry as her numb legs came free of her gear, and clutched at the supporting arms of the stranger as he set her on her feet. But she managed the few steps it took to close the distance between her and where T'ran lay, blue-white and unmoving.

The woman was bent over T'ran, her fingers pressed to his throat as her other hand massaged his chest. She looked up at her husband wordlessly as Arryn fell to her knees.

"Is he alive?" she croaked. "He has to be, his dragon's still here, he has to…"

He was so pale, and his lips were blue, and there was blood just below his dark hair.

"He has to be alive, Ereth's here," Arryn repeated helplessly.

"He's almost alive," the woman said.

"How is someone _almost _alive?" Arryn cried angrily.

"Not breathing," said the man. "Here, Ilena, let me have him."

_Don't touch him!_ Arryn wanted to scream, but she watched powerlessly as the man rolled T'ran to his side and pulled back his arms sharply. A torrent of water poured from T'ran's mouth. "You're hurting him!" she cried out involuntarily as the man jerked back T'ran's arms again—it seemed as though he would pull the rider's arms from their sockets. The woman—Ilena—put a restraining arm about Arryn's shoulders.

"Come on, lad," the man muttered, and he lifted T'ran again in his huge hands, laid his limp form over one brawny leg, and _hit_ him. Arryn jumped and bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Ilena's hold on her tightened and became a comforting embrace as a sob escaped her.

"There!" came the man's satisfied grunt. She opened her eyes and saw T'ran, still face-down over the man's knee like a disobedient child, but coughing and gasping.

"T'ran!" she cried, and would have flung herself upon him but checked herself.

"Well done, Parrin," Ilena said quietly to her husband, who made no reply but laid T'ran down gently on the ground. Arryn scrambled forward, her chest tight with relief and tears. T'ran blinked up at her, his grey eyes hazy.

"Where…what…what happened?" he asked her muzzily, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. "Ereth?" There was an edge of panic to his voice, and he tensed, but then relaxed as his dragon rumbled from a few paces away. His eyes refocused on her. "Arryn?"

"Yes, I'm here, I'm here, T'ran," she said hastily, taking his hand. His skin was so cold. She tightened her grip. He blinked again, taking a breath and wincing, his lips tightening.

"What happened?" he asked her in a stronger voice. "I remember…flying sweep…flaming Thread…and then…"

She didn't have the heart to lie to him, to invent any pretty story to comfort him, even in such a state. "There was…an accident. Chirath—the blue flying sweep with us—he misjudged a jump."

"Are they all right?" T'ran asked.

Arryn couldn't tell whether he meant Chirath and his rider, or Narenth and Linnara. Either way, she knew T'ran would catch his death if he stayed in his soaked riding gear longer—he was already shivering, and only Faranth knew what other wounds he had taken in the horrible collision. "I'll tell you everything later," she said. Looking up, she saw that Ilena had run to the cottage and was making her way back, her arms full of blankets. Before she reached them, Arryn asked T'ran, "Can you move your legs for me?"

He grimaced but with an effort he moved his right leg. "Can't move the left," he panted after a tense moment of exertion.

"Probably broken," pronounced T'ran's rescuer—Parrin, Arryn remembered. He had observed the entire exchange silently. He handed a blanket to Arryn but did not take one for himself. "Do you think you can bear being moved?" he asked T'ran, who nodded stoically. "Can't carry you myself again," Parrin continued. "Arms are too tired from swimming. We'll get you between Ilena and I, bronze-rider, and back to the house."

T'ran nodded again. He looked at Arryn. "Take care of Ereth?"

"Of course I will," Arryn replied quietly. Mentally, she checked with Maventh, who replied that Ereth was not so badly hurt, merely tired, as she was. "He's fine for now, but I'll get a dragon-healer out here as soon as I can," she assured him as he looked over at his dragon in worry.

She helped Ilena and Parrin dry T'ran as best they could, though his riding-gear was still wet; and then, with a blanket wrapped about his chest under his arms, secured with one of Ilena's hairpins, they each took one of his arms and carefully bore him up between them. He bit back a cry of pain as they started forward, Arryn following behind. She took a few steps and then turned back, unsure of where she would do the most good.

_Go with him_, Maventh told her. _I will be fine, and I will take care of Ereth, and I will tell you if anything goes amiss. I promise. _

_Thank you, dearest,_ Arryn said gratefully. She turned and limped as fast as she could after the trio, trying to regain the ground she had lost when she hesitated.

It wasn't a very long walk to the cottage, but by the time they got there, T'ran was panting and clenching his teeth, and Arryn had broken a sweat forcing her legs back into motion. Once they were through the door, Ilena slipped out from beneath T'ran's arm and hastily dragged the bed toward the hearth, manhandling the wooden frame as Arryn watched in admiration. "Bring him here," the housewife ordered, pointing to the bed as she bustled about the room, snatching at bunches of herbs hanging from the rafters and producing more blankets.

When Parrin started forward again, T'ran went limp with a groan. Sighing, Parrin heaved the rider across the room and onto the bed. "I'll go fetch the doctor," he said, rubbing his hand across his wind-roughened face.

"Please," Arryn said before he made it to the door, "could you send a message to the Lord Holder, as well?"

"Of course I'll be sending a message to the Lord Holder," replied Parrin, not unkindly. "'Tisn't every day dragonriders fall outta the sky."

"No—but can you tell him…tell him his niece is here?" It came out as a question. Arryn hadn't spoken to her uncle except through brief messages, handed to passing merchants, once after she had Impressed, and two other times besides. She knew very well she could have visited—it was as simple as popping _between_, exchanging courtesies for an hour or two, and then politely taking her leave. But she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. Now she hoped her uncle would still accept her, and offer her his help.

"His niece?" Parrin repeated, uncomprehending.

"Lady Arryn?" Ilena's eyes widened.

Arryn waved the title aside in embarrassment, her cheeks flaming. "Just Arryn. Never been a lady, title or otherwise. Well, except…" She paused, took a breath and made the formal introductions. "I am Arryn, rider of green Maventh, and this is T'ran, rider of bronze Ereth, both of Benden Weyr."

Parrin gave a little nod of acknowledgement. "I shall send a message to Lord Holder Yenar that you are here, Rider Arryn."

"Thank you," Arryn said. Her head was starting to ache. It had all happened so fast…she had really meant to _between_ them to the lake by the Weyrbowl, where all the dragons bathed…but somehow she hadn't been able to get the image clear enough in her mind…all she could think about was the lake here in Ruatha, where she remembered her father and mother had taken her out in a boat once. So that, in the final desperate moments of their descent, had been the image she had shared with Maventh, and forced into Ereth's mind—an intrusion she felt slightly guilty about, despite the face it had saved the lives of both Ereth and T'ran. Now they were stranded…she only hoped that K'lin was smart enough to realize that they had to have gone somewhere—the dragons would not have set up the wailing keen for the dead.

Because they weren't dead. She smiled slightly at the thought, amused that she was happy with the mere fact that she was alive. But she was, and she was even happier when she looked down at T'ran, despite his injuries, because she knew he would fight through it—if not for her, then for Ereth, definitely.

"You should change out of those wet clothes," said Ilena, turning from setting a pot over the fire. "Here, you can borrow some of mine."

"Thanks," Arryn said, relieved that the woman—who was really only five or six years older than Arryn herself—had gotten over her first reaction at her identity. She took the tunic and breeches, and with a self-conscious glance at T'ran, went over to the corner and changed as quickly as possible—which really wasn't quickly at all, given the fact that she struggled for ages with the swollen laces of her wher-hide vest, and the tricky toggles on her riding pants. By the end she was sure she was bright red, but she went and laid her wet clothes out in the grass by the front step to dry, waving cheerily to Maventh, who harrumphed at her and went back to soaking up the sun.


	16. Chapter 16

**Another chapter for you to devour! Just a warning, this story is winding down, if you can tell--I've about twenty-five pages to go, and that means about, oh, two or three more chapters. But never fear, plans for a sequel and some little one-shots are in the works. Enjoy! Oh, and review!!**

**Arwen, over and out!**

By the time Parrin returned, the sun was swinging low across the horizon and the light washing through the window of the cottage softly illuminated the scene within, bathing it in a blushing glow. However, the events taking place within the small room weren't exactly as peaceful as the sunset outside.

"Make it get down!" shrieked Ilena, brandishing a broom as a bronze blur dove at her.

"Hint, no!" Arryn yelped, diving in front of Ilena—to protect the fire lizard or the woman, she didn't know, but in reward for her efforts she got her backside swatted with the broom and a tail slapped across her face as Hint hastily changed directions with a little screech. "Ow," she said, rubbing the abused part of her anatomy.

"Sorry," said Ilena sheepishly, "but that—thing—I don't think it likes me much."

Arryn grabbed at the broom and missed as she had to fend off Hint. "Hint—_no, _you stupid little flit, she wasn't hurting T'ran! Honest! She was helping him!" But her cajoling seemed to be of no avail—she hastily ducked as Ilena swung the broom at Hint, who blinked out with an indignant squawk.

"Oh, now you've scared him away," Arryn said in frustration. "I was going to try and use him to send a message."

"Send a message? He was trying to claw my eyes out!" Ilena said with an air of reason, holding her broom up.

"Please just…put the broom down," Arryn said wearily. "He just thought you were hurting T'ran."

"Bloody well did," came a slurred mutter from the bed by the hearth.

"You!" Arryn advanced upon him, an accusatory finger out and pointing. "You were _awake_ and you didn't try to help? Didn't even try to talk to Hint?"

"Little beastie doesn't really even talk to me anymore," said T'ran muzzily, blinking up at her. "Don't point at me like that."

"I saved your life. I can sharding well point at you if I want," Arryn returned fiercely.

"True." A touch of a smile played on his lips. "Remind me to thank you later."

Arryn sighed and shook her head. "Anyway, I was going to ask Hint to take a message to K'lin, but now I think he's scared off."

T'ran paused, his eyes unfocusing, and made a face. "No, the little chit's off chattering to Maventh, I think. He pretends like he's never forgiven me for Impressing Ereth. But I think he's got a bit of a crush on Maventh."

"Don't be stupid." Arryn swatted at him, careful not to actually hit him. "Go to sleep. I'll see if I can get Hint to take word to K'lin. And get a healer out here for Ereth," she added, seeing the look on T'ran's face. It was hurting him, she knew, not to be able to go and comfort his dragon. They were both hurting. She touched his arm. "Don't worry. I'll take care of him. I swear."

"I know you will," he said, swallowing and trying to muster up a smile.

"Here," put in Ilena, gently pushing Arryn aside. She held a steaming cup in her hands. "Drink this, sir, and it'll put you to rights."

The fact that T'ran took the mug, and didn't protest the fact that Ilena had called him 'sir' again, after he'd told her many times not to, spoke more than words to Arryn. She swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat and quickly walked out of the cottage, wincing as the bruises in her muscles pulled in protest.

Sure enough, Hint had ensconced himself on Maventh's foreleg, sitting on his hind legs and chattering animatedly to the green, who leveled her great wedge-shaped head with him and was listening with a touching interest. Arryn couldn't help but smile. She stood for a moment and observed the little scene.

Without moving, Maventh said, _How is T'ran's rider? _

_ Passing well, considering what he has been through_, replied Arryn. She cocked an eyebrow. _Interesting conversation? _

_ Actually, yes, the little one has many interesting things to share, _said the green dragon, her eyes whirling.

_He fancies you_, Arryn said, half-accusing.

_Well, who wouldn't? _preened Maventh.

Arryn laughed. Then she sobered. _Mav…how much time do we have? _

Her dragon knew what she was talking about; she could feel the tight knot of tension and nervousness in her rider's stomach. _About two weeks, I think. Maybe more. But no less than a week. _

A week. Arryn rubbed her eyes with the heel of one hand. They were walking the edge, with Maventh so close to rising. It was one hell of a timetable. And she didn't want to think of what would happen if T'ran and Ereth weren't there when Maventh rose.

She paused, and opened her eyes, and considered herself. Yes, she had just had that thought. She wanted Ereth to fly Maventh.

_Ereth is a fine young bronze,_ Maventh said approvingly. Arryn jumped guiltily.

"Can't Ereth hear you?" she hissed at Maventh, who settled her wings primly.

_Ereth is fast asleep,_ she informed her rider. _And what would it matter if he did hear me? The only thing that matters during a flight is who is the fastest. The strongest. _

_ But…with this… will they be able to fly?_ Arryn glanced over to Ereth. But as she looked at him, she realized that, miraculously, most of the gore had washed off with their plunge in the lake—it must have been Chirath's. And as she thought back, she reasoned that if the unfortunate blue had stayed at the same angle as he had when they'd first collided, he would have shielded Ereth and T'ran from most of the flamethrower's splash-back. Granted, she could see some Thread-scores along the bronze's side, and a burn on his tail, but other than that, he didn't look to be too badly injured. That, along with the fact that he was sleeping soundly, heartened Arryn.

But Maventh didn't answer her; she turned her attention back to Hint, whose chatter had not paused during their entire conversation. Arryn caught clips and flashes of the fire-lizard's conversation: it consisted mostly of visuals, pictures the little bronze projected at Maventh, and some chatter that she could only assume was an internal kind of language, private between the lizards and their much larger kin. The images, though…they were interesting. Arryn frowned and 'listened' closer. Images of a great golden dragon—huge, from Hint's perspective; the little bronze thought of Narenth with a mixture of awe and fear. With a snort of disgust, Arryn decided she didn't need to know the gossipy details about when the queen would rise next, and who would fly her. She could really care less. In fact, she was in the mood to give Linnara a piece of her mind when they returned to Benden, Weyrwoman or no.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but can I interrupt you, please, Hint?"

With a final chirrup, the fire lizard politely turned toward her, clearly eager to impress Maventh with his good manners.

"I need you to take a message to someone," she said. "Can you do that for us?"

The little bronze made a noise as if to say, _Take a message? Of course I can take a message. You shouldn't even be asking me, I can take messages so well. _

She smiled. "I need you to find K'lin, rider of Pertanth." She gave him an image of Pertanth. He squeaked at the image of the huge bronze, but gamely bobbed his head. Then Arryn gave him an image of Ruatha Hold, and then, finally, an image of Maventh and Ereth, making sure that the details of Ereth's scoring and burns were clear. After the little lizard repeated the sequence of images to her four times in a row without making a mistake, she provided the image of Benden Weyr, the bronze's ledge, and sent him off. After the fire-lizard blinked out, she sighed and sat down in the grass by Maventh, smiling when the green curled her tail around her.

"You flew really brilliantly today," she said, eyes half-closed as she soaked in the last warm rays of the setting sun.

_I only did what was needed, _Maventh said, repeating her many earlier assertions.

"But we were never taught how to fly like you did," said Arryn, looking up at her dragon. "How'd you figure it out?"

_It just came naturally to me, I suppose, _replied Maventh. _For dragons, once we learn how to fly, each individual has different skills and different strategies in the air. It's just like some will tear out the throat of a wherry immediately, when they land upon it; and others prefer to go for the belly or the spine. _

_ Good comparison, Mav, _Arryn said, wrinkling her nose at the mental image Maventh had given her. _Speaking of hunting, are you hungry? You have to be. _

_ A little, _admitted Maventh, _but I can wait until tomorrow. _

_ All right,_ Arryn said, then grinned ruefully as her own stomach rumbled. _Oh, Parrin's back. I'm going to go see if he talked to my uncle. And if they have anything to eat. _

She stood and grimaced, stretching her stiff legs. Then she walked back to the cottage, entering just after Parrin. The man gave his wife a quick kiss and then turned to her. "Well, Rider Arryn," he said. "I managed to get word to your uncle that you are here." He paused. Arryn waited breathlessly, with wide eyes. "He sends his respects to the bronze-rider, and his greetings to you. He says he will send his best healer to tend to you both." Parrin's eyes twinkled. "And he sends his invitation to you and your dragon, to come to the feast he will hold tonight in your honor."

Arryn nearly fell over. She regained her composure and stuttered, "Tonight?" Granted, she'd slept most of the afternoon, but even so, she loathed the thought of leaving T'ran.

"Yes, tonight," replied Parrin with a warm smile.

"Are you coming?" asked Arryn with a bit of a squeak.

"No," replied Parrin with another smile. "I would rather stay here with my wife. We will tend to your bronze-rider."

"First of all, he's not _my _bronze-rider," said Arryn, "and secondly, he wants Maventh to come as well?"

"That is what he said."

"Well, then I'll go ask her. She's probably too tired, you know, what with the Fall today and everything," babbled Arryn, fairly running out the door.

_Maventh, love, there's a feast tonight, and they want us to come but you'd have to fly a bit and I know you're tired and hungry and probably not in much of a mood to deal with people much less my uncle— _

_ A feast? _said Maventh with avid interest. _I have never been invited to a feast before. _

_ Oh, they're really not much fun at all, very boring, especially the ones my uncle throws, he's an old stodge, not really very in touch with anything at all, _said Arryn desperately.

_Nevertheless, I think it is only polite that we attend, if it is in our honor, _replied Maventh sensibly. _It will be interesting. _

_ Oh. All right then. _ Arryn groaned. She didn't want to face her uncle; she felt like digging in her heels and kicking and screaming like a toddler. Her uncle was so very adept at breaking down people's barriers, and she feared that he would destroy her newfound confidence in herself, her rider's confidence.

_He cannot take that away from you_, Maventh interrupted, breaking into her thoughts. _I will not let him, and you will not let him either. It is part of who you are now. You are a dragonrider of Benden Weyr,_ she continued, raising her head into an aggressive stance, _and we do not back down from a challenge! _

_ All right, all right,_ Arryn said. She looked down at herself. _I don't have anything other than this and my riding gear to wear. _

_ Why should you need anything else? You are a dragonrider. That should be enough. _

_ Give me a few moments,_ said Arryn, resigned, _and we'll go. _ She walked quickly back to the cottage. "Ilena, can you plait my hair?" she asked without preamble. "Apparently my uncle has decided to hold a feast in my honor and I have to attend," she explained, unable to keep a hint of sourness from her voice.

"Of course," said Ilena. In fact, she did better than simply plait Arryn's hair, which was a feat in itself considering her curls and the staggering _amount_ of hair that she had; somehow, Ilena wove Arryn's hair into a complex series of braids, almost like a coronet. When Arryn looked at her reflection in Ilena's precious mirror, she couldn't help but smile and blush in pleasure.

"Thank you," was all she could say. Now, she didn't really care about the rest of her ensemble. She'd decided against wearing a dress, despite the fact that Ilena had offered to let her borrow one, and wore instead a plain white tunic and a wide leather belt along with her riding breeches, boots and gauntlets. Somehow she felt more secure as she pulled the arm-guards on, running a finger over the well-worn, intricate designs skillfully worked into the tough leather.

As she was deciding whether to wear her riding vest to ward off the night chill, T'ran startled her by saying, "Before you go, Arryn, I have something for you."

"I thought you were asleep!" she said, hurrying over to the bed. Despite her protests, he sat up, leaning back against the warm stones of the hearth. "I'm sorry, I really don't want to go to this stupid feast," she said miserably, thinking of how he must feel at being left behind.

He merely smiled at her and said, "Hold out your hand."

Puzzled, she obeyed. He pressed something small and smooth into her hand. She gasped as she held it up. It was a pendant made of gold and a glittering green stone and a strange black metal that shone in the firelight. "It's beautiful."

"It was my mother's," said T'ran, his grey eyes far away, as if he was seeing his mother and father in the flickering flames of the hearth. "She gave it to me, just before I left Ista." He smiled again and looked at Arryn. "Told me I would know exactly what it was for, and who to give it to." He paused and looked down. Arryn waited silently, turning the pendant over in wonder. It was an oblong sort of disk, a ring of gold around the outside and the black metal forming the interior. Both metals met around the glimmering green stone, which nestled in the lower curve of the oblong like a raindrop sliding along the bottom of a glass. She looked back up at T'ran and met his eyes. A thrill ran through her.

"I didn't understand my mother then," he continued in a quieter voice. "But I do now." He took her other hand. "It's a promise."

Her hand tightened in his. She smiled and nodded. Looking down at the pendant again, she noticed that it the frame wasn't really gold. It was a sort of bronze metal. Bronze and green, she thought, smiling. "Can you help me put it on?" she asked, turning and offering the clasps to T'ran. The leather strap that held the pendant was rather short, but the necklace fit her as if it had been made for her: the pendant nestled in the hollow of her throat, cool against the pulse of her heart. Turning back around, she kissed T'ran soundly and without warning. Surprised at first, he responded enthusiastically but then had to turn his head aside, wincing. "Sorry," he said, gasping.

"Don't be sorry," Arryn murmured. Then, louder, she said, "Go to sleep and get better. So you can keep your promise."

He grinned up at her and said, "Go have some fun at the feast." He yawned. "Except no kissing hold-boys…"

She laughed and said goodbye to Ilena and Parrin (who had tactfully vacated the room before T'ran had given her the pendant) and then traipsed out to where Maventh was waiting, to take her to the feast.


	17. Chapter 17

**Here I am yet again, presenting you with another chapter! (Ever so humbly, may I add.) Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and read my story and stuck with me this far. Read on for some juicy character development and the reintroduction of some beloved friends!**

**Arwen, over and out!**

They decided to fly to the feast, with Maventh insisting she was perfectly capable of winging the relatively short distance to the Hold, and Arryn reluctantly agreed after reasoning that a jump would be tricky in the fading half-light. She stifled a yelp as she climbed stiffly up onto Maventh's neck, gripping the straps of her riding gear until her knuckles went white.

_Are you sure you are all right? _Maventh said in concern, swinging her head about to look at her rider.

"I'm fine," Arryn said, after a moment spent composing herself. Really, she thought, it wasn't too bad—the pain was rather reminiscent of the soreness she had suffered through during their brutal two-a-day training sessions at the end of weyrling training. "Let's go."

Maventh pushed off, her wings poised and trembling for the mighty down-sweep that would take them up into the sky. Arryn couldn't help by glory in it, as she did every time they flew, feeling the cool night air caress her cheek. Below them, the lake glittered like some huge jewel in the dusky light, catching the remnants of the sunset on its wavelets.

Arryn saw the Hold, and her stomach twisted with a maelstrom of emotions. It was like coming home, but it was bittersweet, she supposed, considering the fact that she had not exactly left with the fondest memories of her final moments in Ruatha. But now there were hundreds of torches set on the outermost walls, and in the main courtyard there was a large ring of lanterns, set upon tall poles, and in the golden light Arryn could see that twisted between the poles were banners of green. A small smile touched her mouth.

Then she noticed the people. It looked as though the population of the entire Hold had crammed inside the walls; some had even resorted to standing on the steps and walkways along the inner walls. She felt Maventh stretch herself out to her full length and arch her neck as they neared the Hold, and grinned. _Show-off. _

_They _did _come here to see us, _replied Maventh with her usual air of sensibility.

_No, they came here to see you_, corrected Arryn proudly.

_Us._ Maventh refused to let her rider say otherwise.

A man on the outer wall sighted Maventh, her form a dark suggestion against the deepening sky, and he shouted. The cry was taken up by those on the outer wall, and it spread, and swelled as more voices took it up, until by the time the green dragon winged low over the outer walls, it was a great roaring cheer. Maventh returned the ovation with a ground-shaking bugle. The crowd fell silent, stunned and wondrous, as Maventh glided down toward the ring of lanterns, folding her half-spread wings like a swallow to slow their descent and to avoid knocking over any awe-struck observer with her wingtips. Her landing was smooth and perfect.

If I dropped a hairpin, I think I would hear it hit the ground, thought Arryn as she slid down Maventh's neck. Her foot caught in the straps for a breath and she hopped awkwardly until she freed it, cheeks burning with mortification. But no-one seemed to have noticed her lapse in coordination or composure. A wave of chatter swept through the crowd until a man stepped forward and bowed his head in respect.

"Rider Arryn," he said.

"Lord Holder Yenar," she replied, returning the courtesy. She kept one hand on Maventh's neck, mostly to reassure herself, but also so that her dragon would not lose her in the sea of humanity. Maventh, though, seemed to be perfectly at ease: she arched her neck like a warhorse and surveyed the crowd solemnly, eyes whirling with interest.

Yenar looked much the same as he had nearly two Turns ago, when she had told him that she would become a dragonrider, and he had doubted her. There were a few new lines about his mouth, and the skin at his neck was looser, and his hair was mostly grey; yet there was also a new sort of softness about him. Arryn realized that his eyes were now kind, and she smiled. It seemed that happiness had found her uncle, just as it had found her, and she was introduced to the reason for his happiness a moment later: a pair of children, twins by the look of them, emerged from behind the holder's wife (whom Arryn had always known to be a kind woman.) They were raven-haired like their mother, but with a start Arryn recognized her own green eyes, the eyes she had inherited from Yenar's brother, her father. She couldn't help but smile at the pair.

"Welcome back to Ruatha," their mother offered, smiling rather distractedly as she grabbed at her son's hand. The little boy evaded her grasp and ran forward with determination, his steps sure for such a young age. His chubby little fingers were stretched out toward Maventh and his green eyes were fixed on the dragon. The little boy displayed a fearless fascination but his mother gave a little cry as her son skirted Arryn's legs and stopped in front of Maventh. The green dragon looked down at the child, lowering her head until her whirling eyes were looking into his green ones; and to both rider and dragon's immense pleasure, the boy gave a wordless burble of wonder and put a hand on the dragon's eyeridge. He giggled when Maventh huffed air at him, ruffling his hair.

Arryn's second little cousin, not to be outdone by her brother, ran forward, and this time the lady of the Hold let her child go, although her face was still not without traces of motherly worry. The little girl stopped, though, and her eyes were round like only children can manage. With a smile, Arryn knelt down in front of the little girl and held out her arms. The child willingly put her arms around the rider's neck, and although Arryn winced when she swung the child up onto her hip, the soreness wasn't very bad anymore.

After the Holder's little daughter touched the green dragon, it seemed that a spell had been lifted and all of a sudden the crowd pressed forward, creating a solid wall of humanity around the ring of lanterns. To Arryn's wonder and puzzlement, the villagers seemed to be forming a long line…and she realized they were waiting for their chance to 'meet' a dragon. _Are you all right with this, Maventh? _she asked. Her dragon turned to her with a draconic air of amusement and said, _They mean no harm. Although if anyone pulls on my wings I'll be very irritated. _

Arryn laughed out loud at this. Yenar gave her a questioning look. "Oh," Arryn said, forgetting that they were unused to the silent communications and one-sided reactions between dragon and rider. "Maventh said that she is perfectly willing to let all the people greet her, as long as they are polite and do not pull on her wings."

Yenar turned to the crowd and said, "For those of you who wish to pay your respects to green Maventh and Rider Arryn of Benden, you are asked to display courtesy."

"Maventh requests that you don't pull on her wings," Arryn added to the announcement. More than a few people looked up at the green dragon with expressions of surprise; it was often easy for those who weren't riders to forget that dragons were not simply dumb beasts to be ridden, like horses.

"Uncle, what are my little cousins' names?" she asked after the murmur of conversation had swelled again.

"This is Kadal," said Yenar, proudly rumpling his son's hair, "and his sister is Taelin."

"Kadal and Taelin," repeated Arryn. "Beautiful names." She addressed Taelin, who was still perched on her hip, arms about her neck. "Would you like to be a dragon-rider someday, Taelin?" The girl merely stared at her with wide, round eyes, sucking on one thumb.

"It is good to see you well, Arryn," said her uncle with characteristic gravity.

She smiled. "Thank you. And I apologize for dropping in so suddenly, without any message, and…" She took a breath and barreled on. "I'm sorry I didn't visit, before."

Yenar cleared his throat. "It is well, for I did not quite make you welcome as I should have, niece." He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "I have had many joys since you left, and I am glad you have found yours." His eyes drifted over to Maventh, gleaming emerald in the golden torch-light. "She is magnificent."

"Thank you," replied Arryn softly, her own gaze also captivated by the sight of her dragon.

"How is your companion, the bronze-rider?" asked Yenar's wife, breaking her well-bred silence.

"As well as can be expected after such a day," replied Arryn truthfully. What was her aunt's name…ah, Maryl. "Thank you for your concern, Lady Maryl."

After that, the conversation drifted into the more ordinary—Arryn was asked over and over again to describe the weyr and the dragons, and was barraged with countless questions about every detail of her life as a dragonrider. She felt overwhelmed but also oddly pleased, that so many would find her life so interesting and enviable. But whenever a question was asked about the great queen of Benden, her stomach tightened and she had to carefully school her expression so as not to display her anger. After a while, the food was brought out, and Maryl plied Arryn with delicacies of every description: meats and bread and sweets and fish and strange dishes that she'd never tasted before. Finally Arryn admitted her stomach felt as though it was about to burst. Her legs were aching from standing so long, and she found little comfort in the stiff chairs arranged at a table in the center of the lanterns. She declined to dance and merely watched as men and women performed energetic country dances, laughing at the lyrics of the songs. Taelin ensconced herself on Arryn's lap, and once the music started, the little girl promptly fell asleep and had to be carried off to bed. Kadal lasted a little longer, fighting off yawns valiantly, his entranced gaze rarely leaving Maventh, who curled up like a cat and accepted roasted meats from her adoring public, much to their delight.

It was almost midnight when Arryn lost her battle with her sleepiness and allowed herself one jaw-popping yawn. Maryl was instantly insisting that she stay in her old room, saying that it had been kept in good order ever since she had left for Benden. With a smile and not without regret, Arryn declined, explaining that she couldn't leave T'ran alone at the cottage, and that he probably could not stand being moved so great a distance yet. Yenar settled for summoning the healer and bidding him to follow his niece and stay the night, despite the fact that the woman had already been to the cottage and seen to T'ran earlier. Arryn suppressed a smile as she envisioned Parrin's cottage filled to the threshold with well-meaning healers and such, but nevertheless she thanked her uncle warmly and they even shared a stiff embrace before she turned to Maventh. _Ready to go, love? _she asked.

_I am always ready, _Maventh replied instantly with an overly pompous air, swelling her chest and half-raising her wings. Arryn laughed at her dragon's mockery of the rowdy and masculine bronzes. They were both giddy from the attention and revelry of the feast, she decided as she swung up onto Maventh's neck.

_Come on, then, _she said. She tried not to grin at the admiring murmurs from all about them as the green dragon spread her wings and the lantern-light played like a rainbow upon their length. The gust of air from the sweep of Maventh's wings rushed through the crowd, and with a parting bugle they were up and away.

Arryn closed her eyes as they flew, enjoying the feel of the cool night air upon her skin. Maventh glided through the dark sky, skimming along on the breeze like a stone skipped over the surface of a pond. Her flight was leisurely and unhurried and somehow that made it all the more beautiful.

When Maventh touched down in the field by Parrin's cottage, Arryn saw that the light still shone from the one window. She slid down and unstrapped the riding gear from her dragon's neck, fingers moving with practiced ease even in the darkness. Just as she finished rubbing Maventh down with oil and a soft cloth, the healer Yenar had bidden follow her pulled up her horse and dismounted. After tying her mount to the little fence that encircled a small patch of grass at the front of the cottage, she strode over to Arryn.

Arryn studied the healer as she approached, and decided she liked the woman. Her face was broad and wind-roughened, her hands large and calloused, and her legs thick with muscle. Arryn looked at the woman's face again and thought that it was odd: normally she would have considered the woman to be plain, with her strong chin and rather large nose and thick slashes of eyebrows, but her eyes were simply remarkable; they were a silvery sort of grey that flashed blue in the scant moonlight, and then darkened to a steely color in the shadows. There was strength and kindness and a rough kind of courage in those eyes. Arryn realized that this woman was one who faced the elemental stages of life every day: birth, sickness, disease, death, the things that stripped even the mightiest of lords down to simple skin and bone, flesh and blood. Things that brought even the legendary dragon-riders to their knees, she thought rather wryly.

Giving a little nod of respect to Maventh, the woman offered her rough hand and said, "I'm Bethre."

Arryn shook her hand firmly and replied, "I'm Arryn."

A little smile touched Bethre's lips at Arryn's omission of her obvious title and rank. "Well met, Arryn. Now, are you as bungled up as your friend in there or did you fare sommat better?"

"Somewhat better, thankfully," answered Arryn with a rueful grin. She gave Maventh's nose a last stroke and then motioned toward the cottage. Bethre fell in with her as they walked. "I really didn't suffer anything worse than a dunking in the lake," explained Arryn. "I've some sore muscles and nasty bruises but nothing more."

Bethre let out a snort. "Well, good, I woulda had a dread awful time tryin' to handle two of yon rider." She stabbed a finger at the cottage, clearly indicating T'ran.

"Is he that bad?" asked Arryn in concern, stopping.

Bethre turned to face her, hands on her hips. "I'll just say that he won't be frolickin' in the fields anytime soon, that one."

"But—I mean, what exactly ails him?"

The healer gazed at her thoughtfully with her turn-coat eyes. "He's got quite a few bruised ribs, one or two broken, I should think, an' his one ankle might be broken, though I think it's just a bad twist. Some cuts and scrapes and a few burns, too. I got a full sampler," she finished, throwing her hands up at the variety of injuries she had just described. "What exactly happened, if I can ask?" she continued with a keen look.

"Well," Arryn said, taking a big breath. She rushed through the story so quickly that Bethre stopped her several times and asked her questions in order to clarify the events. Then the healer shook her head.

"Sounds a-might dangerous, flying about like that," she said, her dancing eyes betraying her wit.

"Just a bit," agreed Arryn, fighting down a smile. Then she sobered. "Will he be able to move back to the weyr soon?" She touched the pendant at her throat.

"A few days, perhaps," replied Bethre. Seeing Arryn's chagrin, she chuckled and patted the younger woman's arm. "Don't worry, your boy will be fine in a few weeks."

But I don't have a few weeks, wailed Arryn silently, looking back to where the moonlight carved the emerald suggestion of Maventh out of the darkness. T'ran has to get better before that. She gripped the pendant fiercely. He _has_ to.

Despite her anxiety over their tight timetable, as she had mentally termed it, Arryn was tired. There was something niggling at the edges of her mind—it felt like a mouse had gotten ahold of the edge of her consciousness, nibbling away at it. She wrinkled her nose as she unbuckled her belt and untucked her shirt in preparation for sleep. Her mind was so fuzzy…but it felt like something important.

"Arryn?"

She turned and smiled at T'ran. Then she held her hands up. "No wine. No kissing hold-boys. I swear, my hands are clean."

He chuckled softly, but then his breath caught and he winced. "Good," he managed. Then he frowned. "Whatever that healer gave me…knocked me straight on my behind…won't let me up for me than a few minutes at a time…" He yawned.

"You need to sleep," Arryn said quietly. Ilena was sleeping on a pallet in the opposite corner. There was an empty pallet next to hers, and Parrin had rigged a makeshift curtain about the two beds. She gave in to another yawn and added, "So do I, apparently. Good night."

"Night," murmured T'ran. As soon as his eyes closed, Arryn stumbled over to her own pallet, clumsy with her sore muscles, and dropped down onto it gratefully. Someone closed the curtain, shutting out the firelight…but then it was bright. Arryn squinted and saw Bethre settling herself right beside her with a lantern.

"Clothes off," ordered the healer.

"What?"

"You heard me. Clothes off," repeated Bethre, all business as she shifted her lantern and opened her satchel of herbs and instruments.

"But—I'm just bruised!" protested Arryn muzzily. All she wanted to do was sleep and shut out that strange ticklish feeling.

"So you say."

Still muttering protests under her breath, Arryn tugged her shirt over her head and slid out of her breeches, glaring at the healer, her cheeks reddening as the older woman boldly probed the bruised parts of her anatomy. After a few moments, Bethre took out a little jar and proceeded to apply numbweed to Arryn's bruises, effectively silencing her arguments. She was half-drowsing by the time Bethre handed her a nightgown that Arryn discovered was truly just a very large tunic, but she pulled it over her head anyway. It was much more comfortable than her shirt and breeches. "Thanks," she muttered at Bethre, feeling like a sullen child. "Can I go to sleep now?"

Bethre merely gave her a smile that was reminiscent of an older sister. "Sure. If it'll make you less grumpy, by all means, sleep."

Arryn snorted at Bethre and laid down for the second time, this time feeling much less protest from her battered body. Just before she drifted off, the fuzzy feeling at the edge of her mind resolved itself into words, distant but clear:

_No, they aren't very badly hurt….yes…we'll arrive in the morning…. _

Hm, I'm eavesdropping from a million miles away, she thought in disjointed amusement before surrendering fully to sleep.

She awoke to a chorus of bugles: Ereth's deep voice mingled with Maventh's clear, bell-like tone. _No-one has the right to be this loud this early, _she complained to Maventh, who only bugled again. _What's all the fuss about, if I may ask? _

_They're here! _was all Maventh said.

It was enough to send Arryn rocketing out of bed, pausing only to pull on her breeches and throw a belt around her oversize tunic. As she was running across the grass she realized she was barefoot, then shrugged and continued her headlong race toward her dragon.

Two other dragons gleamed in the morning sun—she could see a flash of deep blue, and then brown—and she grinned from ear to ear. Sh'len and Lira! They were both here! Maventh and Ereth had finally finished their welcoming bugles when another dragon burst into the air: another brown. Arryn stopped and shaded her eyes. Her grin faded a little as she recognized Grath—and P'tar.

"Arryn!"

She would have been knocked over by Lira's exultant embrace, had it not been for Sh'len, who calmly caught them both, smiling.

"It's so good to see you," she said to Lira, regaining her feet.

"Well, it's absolutely amazing to see you," returned her weyrmate. "You know, the dragons went a little berserk after Chirath died, and you both went _between_. I swear, you scared us all half to death—what with Baerth keening and all, it took me an _age_ to get out of him that you weren't dead!"

"Thankfully, I'm not," agreed Arryn

"But the oddest thing happened, he said he couldn't get through to you or Maventh or Ereth," continued Lira, frowning.

"Well," reasoned Arryn, "we were all a bit shaken up."

"That's probably it," said Sh'len, his arm still slung around Arryn's neck.

"Isn't this a touching reunion!"

Arryn sighed. Why, oh _why_ did P'tar feel the necessity of dogging her footsteps and creating trouble? "What do you want, P'tar?" she asked flatly. Sh'len and Lira were both silent, Lira glaring stonily at P'tar.

"Just here to make fun of Arryn and T'ran, and how they were nearly killed?" spat Lira after a moment more of restraint.

P'tar looked genuinely caught off guard by Lira's rancor. "No, actually," he said. "K'lin sent me after you to remind you all that we're excused from training this afternoon."

"Likely story," said Sh'len, his dark eyes snapping.

"Honestly! He said he forgot to tell you. I know it isn't much, but he's rather distracted, if you haven't noticed, and he seemed to think it was rather important," snapped P'tar. Arryn could see the frustration growing in his eyes. She sighed.

"Fine. I don't care," she said. "Go and molest some herdbeasts, or something. Just leave us alone."

The three friends turned and were making their way toward the cottage when they heard something hit the ground behind them. "Maybe the git's punched himself in the face," Sh'len murmured hopefully as they looked back. But P'tar had slammed his riding gear down onto the ground and was walking back toward Grath, his gait jerky. With a start, Arryn realized his shoulders were slumped and he was trying not to hang his head, but failing. The brown dragon crooned and wrapped his neck about his rider in a gesture of comfort that Arryn knew all too well.

"Come on," said Lira coldly, her hand on Arryn's shoulder. Arryn hesitated, but then turned and followed her friends into the cottage.


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello again and let me reiterate that it has been a joy to write this and it's made me so happy to know that so many people have read my writing and enjoyed it (well mostly, anyway!) I'll be starting training again soon but I'm hoping to finish this before I leave. As always, reviews are appreciated and might even spur me to write faster! Enjoy!**

**Arwen, over and out!**

Lira and Sh'len's reunion with T'ran was rather anticlimactic, as T'ran was asleep when they burst into the cottage and Bethre would not permit them to wake him up. So they sat at the table and Ilena found some extra mugs and they drank cold _klah_, discussing the past days' events in overly hushed whispers. Lira demanded that Arryn tell her the entire sequence of events, the whole thing from 'tip to tail,' as she said. Bethre cast an odd look over her shoulder at the use of the dragon-rider slang. Lira just grinned. Arryn started from the beginning, or what she thought would be an appropriate beginning: the moment she realized that something was wrong down in the Queen's Wing.

"We might want to go outside for this," she suggested, glancing over at the sleeping T'ran. If she knew Lira, her weyrmate would be jumping about and exclaiming over the story, and then Bethre, no doubt, would grab her by the scruff of the neck, dragon-rider or no, and escort her from the cottage. Puzzled, Lira agreed, and Sh'len gave her a conspiratorial wink, following the blue-rider out into the grass.

"Well then, we might as well pay Ereth and Maventh a visit," said Lira, and they all trooped over to where their dragons were drowsing in the morning sun, grouped together like a litter of pups. Lira giggled and Arryn couldn't help but smile at the sight: the four dragons were all piled atop one another, wings half-spread in lazy relaxation, tails all tangled, and Ereth was on his back, looking as though he was drooling—if dragons could drool, Arryn amended in amusement. But still, it was a very undignified position for a bronze. She restrained her laughter and thought of the tale she had to relate to her friends, and that sobered her instantly.

"Come on then," she said. "It's a rather long story, and we haven't got all day." Lira and Sh'len obligingly sat down, and once they had arranged themselves in a rough sort of triangle, Arryn began. She took a deep breath. "It was about half-way through the Fall, I think, maybe more, when I realized that the Queen's Wing was having trouble covering all the over-spill from the low sweeps. There had been too many dragons put out of action in the wings directly above them, and without M'ran to regulate the numbers and organization of the wings, the Queen's Wing was going to be overwhelmed."

"Who was supposed to be regulating the numbers?" asked Sh'len, his blue eyes sharp as steel.

Arryn hesitated. "K'lin. And Linnara, I suppose. But K'lin asked me to help, since…" She made a vague swirling motion about her head with one hand and her friends nodded in recognition, knowing that she didn't like mentioning her talent. "I reported like I was instructed, but I guess it takes a while to get the hang of rearranging the wings mid-Fall. And I don't think Linnara was helping." Her face darkened at the memory of the golden dragon racing toward the pocket of Thread. Lira looked at Sh'len, raising her eyebrows at Arryn's obvious anger at the mention of the Weyrwoman, but the brown-rider shook his head slightly and turned his eyes back to Arryn.

"Anyway," Arryn continued, reminding herself to focus, "I told K'lin, and he approved of my suggestion that we run a special sweep above the Queen's Wing until he could figure out which wings could afford to send reinforcements. He also approved of my suggestion that Ereth and T'ran join me in the sweep, and sent blue Chirath to help us." She took a shaky breath; she hadn't realized that the memories of the Fall were still so upsetting, but she clenched her hands and forced herself to continue. They had to know the truth—the _whole _truth, not some daintily tailored story of mishap. "Then…then I saw that there was a large pocket of Thread heading toward the Wing." She locked gazes with her two dearest friends, her green eyes hard. "Narenth flew toward it, faster than the other dragons of the wing could follow. Linnara kept her flamethrower down and unarmed. Ereth sensed it," she continued over Lira's exclamation of disbelief and anger, "and he and T'ran dove to stop them. Maventh and I followed, but of course, Ereth is faster. They cut below the queen and blocked her attempt at—" Here she faltered. She hadn't said it aloud before, not even to herself, not even to Maventh. "Her attempt at suicide."

Even Sh'len let out a wordless exclamation of shock and anger. For a goldrider and a queen to so forget themselves, to allow their personal troubles to overshadow their responsibilities to their weyr, to all of Pern…it was almost inconceivable.

"Chirath saw another pocket of Thread heading toward the Queen's Wing. Maventh and I were helping to clean up the pocket that Ereth had flamed, and I saw Chirath blink out just as Ereth swung about to flame the Thread."

"No," breathed Lira. To flame another fighting pair was every rider's greatest fear—even greater than death, for most. It was like killing a brother, or a mother. "Ereth didn't…"

"No," Arryn said firmly. "He didn't. I warned him. Screamed at him not to flame. Maventh and I were winging toward them, to help, and then Mav corkscrewed and I felt something hot roar by us. It just missed us."

"But you said…Ereth didn't…" Lira frowned, furrowing her brow as she tried to piece together the puzzle. Then a new, horrified shock dawned upon her face. "A flamethrower."

"Yes," Arryn said grimly. "A flame-thrower. Some wherry-headed idiot in the Queen's Wing flamed that pocket of Thread with no thought of the dragons that were in front of it. They were still trying to sort themselves out from when Chirath blinked in, crashing into Ereth. I don't think either of them were seriously injured when they collided, but then the splashback and the char…" She shook her head, wordless anger robbing her of speech. Lira, too, could only stare. Sh'len, characteristically, was dissecting the facts coolly, rubbing his fingers together as he thought.

"What happened to Narenth and the Weyrwoman?" he asked after a moment.

"They blinked out and went back to the weyr in the middle of a Fall," Arryn replied, unable to keep the disgust from her voice. "And they left Chirath and Ereth injured and falling from the sky."

"What did you do?" Lira asked raptly.

"Before Maventh and I could reach them, Chirath went _between_. He took most of the blast, I think, but Ereth was still shocked and hurt and he couldn't keep himself in the air. Maventh dove beneath him and came up, pushing him up a bit…but we were still falling, and T'ran was hurt. His riding-straps were shorn clear through. So we had to do something. I knew we couldn't land anywhere safely, not all entangled like that, and with T'ran like he was. So we came _between_, to the lake just over there."

"Brilliant," said Sh'len. "Instead of risking a landing in the Weyrbowl or in the forest, you chose a crash-landing into the water." He paused. "But why didn't you just go to the Weyrlake? It would've been simpler."

"I couldn't get the image sharp enough," said Arryn sheepishly. "All I could think of was this…this stupid little lake in Ruatha…" To her own surprise, tears sprang up in her eyes.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Sh'len said, looking embarrassed, as if he was responsible for Arryn's tears. "You still saved his life, Arryn."

"No," sniffled Arryn. "I didn't even do that. He fell off in the lake and Parrin dove in and got him."

"Oh," said Sh'len. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shut up before you make it worse," hissed Lira, smacking him on the arm before tackling Arryn in her idea of a comforting embrace—which, in reality, was more like a crushing bearhug that reminded Arryn of being pinned in wrestling class during weyrling training. She'd hated wrestling. A lot. But it was enough to make her laugh. Or rather wheeze, until Lira let her up. With the emotional crisis averted, Lira and Sh'len discussed Arryn's story, especially the part about Narenth and Linnara. Lira was of the opinion that they should fly back to the weyr right now and challenge Linnara to a duel. Sh'len pointed out that only the riders of fighting dragons were entitled to duels. Lira shrugged and said that maybe, with the right provocation, she could manage a catfight.

"Wouldn't that be dramatic," said Arryn drolly. "A catfight between the Weyrwoman and a female blue-rider. _That_ would certainly give everyone something to talk about."

"Better than talking about the dead weyrleader," muttered Lira sullenly.

"Lira!" reprimanded Arryn in shock.

"Well, it would!" Lira insisted. "It's not like mulling and wailing over it is going to bring M'ran back! It's not anyone's fault that his heart gave out! I don't understand why everyone doesn't realize we've got bigger problems on our hands!"

"Problems the size of a queen dragon," agreed Sh'len seriously. That silenced Lira and they sat for a moment, each thinking their own thoughts, or sharing a few sentiments with their dragons. In any case, what were they to do? They were just four young riders caught up in a problem that could bring the weyr to its knees, Arryn thought with a fierce sort of anger. Five riders, or even six, she amended silently, remembering T'ran and reluctantly including P'tar. As her thoughts turned to the brown-rider who had once been her arch-nemesis, as they had dubbed him so melodramatically just after the Hatching, she was startled to find that she didn't think of him as an enemy anymore. His little speech, delivered the day after that messy night with T'ran and K'lin and that whole business, _had_ affected her, much as she had tried to convince herself that his words had been scripted and contrived to win her empathy. She twisted about, pretending to stretch her sore legs as her eyes roamed the nearby fields, searching for Grath and the lone figure of P'tar. There—down by the lake. She could just make out the single figure, still in his riding gear. Grath must be out hunting, or somesuch, she thought.

"Arryn? You all right?" asked Lira.

"Um. Yes." She stood. " I think I'm going to go take a walk. Stretch my legs…I'm still a little sore from the Fall. You should go see if T'ran's awake." She paused. "But I haven't really told him about Chirath…or Narenth."

"I can do that," said Sh'len. "Don't worry about it."

"Thanks," replied Arryn, truly grateful.

P'tar jumped like he was a cat and she'd trodden on his tail when she said hello. He shoved his hands into his belt after finding that his riding breeches didn't have pockets, hunching his shoulders and looking at her almost sullenly. There was something different about him, and she realized that he looked…_vulnerable. _It was the first occasion she could recall that he didn't wear a cocky grin, and the sly glint in his eyes was gone…or muffled, rather. She could see it was still there, in the recesses.

"Do you always enjoy going for walks by yourself by empty lakes?" she asked, quirking one eyebrow in a teasing manner. He hesitated, looking as though he wanted to walk away. Then a ghost of his acerbic smile touched his lips.

"Do you always enjoy shattering people's peace and silence?" he retorted, though his tone was nowhere near as acidic as usual.

"Most of the time. Mostly I enjoy shattering their egos," she replied with a grin. Again, there was that wary look. "Come on now, I'm not going to pull a knife on you."

"Then why are you here?" he asked, stiffening his shoulders again. "You hate me. Your friends hate me. Everyone hates me." There was an outraged rumble from overhead as Grath winged over the lake, presumably in search of unsuspecting herdbeasts. "Except you, Grath," P'tar amended, his features softening for a brief moment as he spoke to his dragon.

Arryn frowned. P'tar hadn't whined or cringed when he'd said that she hated him. He just stated it, as though it was a fact. "I don't hate you, P'tar," she corrected, almost gently. "We may have our differences, but I don't hate you."

He shrugged. "Makes no difference, really. There's only a fine line between disliking someone and hating them. When no-one from my own class talks to me, or offers to pair with me for drills, or even asks me to go grab a cup of _klah_ before watch…" He shrugged again, his expression stony. "It's not like I care what any of you think anyway."

Arryn sighed. She, too, put her hands in her pockets. "Look. I told you I don't hate you. I'll admit, I didn't like you very much, mostly just because of how you always seemed to turn up at the wrong times, looking for trouble. And you kicked me pretty hard in the shin the first day we met," she added with a smile to soften her words. "But sometimes I think that there's reasons behind people's behavior. I didn't think about it then, but I'm realizing it now. You made me think about it, actually, with what you told me a few days ago."

He gave her a confused look.

"About your sister," Arryn reminded him softly.

"Oh." His expression went dead, even his eyes. "Yeah. I forgot I told you that. Must've been drunk or hungover or something."

"No," said Arryn, refusing to let him back off the subject that easily. She took his arm, and he didn't shake her off. "I want to know, P'tar. I want to know what happened to your sister."

He tensed for a long moment and then let out a shaky breath. "You want to know what happened to my sister."

"Yes," Arryn said softly. "I want to understand."

P'tar seemed to struggle with himself. Then he relented. "Sit down."

"Gladly," she said in relief, giving a melodramatic groan as her sore muscles pulled, milking a small smile out of him. Strange, she thought, that I'm the one coming to him now. I never thought I'd be doing this. But then again, I never thought I'd be a dragon-rider, either.

"Sylla was older than me by two Turns. I idolized her," began P'tar, surprising Arryn with his frank honesty. "I used to follow her around, when we were small, and she'd sit on the ledge with me and invent stories about each of the dragons we saw flying about in the sky. She was beautiful, too. When I got older I got into a lot of fights, because I wouldn't let any of the boys say anything rude about her." He smiled, his eyes distant. "When she turned fourteen, my father put her name in for candidacy, just after the flight happened, even before the eggs were laid. It was the old queen's last clutch, I think, that she was going to stand for. That was the one where the little queen Impressed the girl from Fort, and the old Weyrwoman let her go back to Fort." He shook his head slightly. "Didn't really understand that, but I suppose Asa didn't think she and her queen would be lost before Pareth rose and clutched another young queen for Benden. Narenth was young, too, and it's not unheard of for a queen not to lay a golden egg until her second clutch."

"Anyway, Sylla was supposed to stand for Pareth's last clutch, as a queen candidate. My mother and father were so proud, but it wasn't like they hadn't expected the daughter of a bronze-rider to stand for gold. As the Hatching came closer, something seemed wrong with my sister. She'd get sick a lot, and couldn't eat. She said that even the smell of food made her nauseous. The Candidate Master came, one night, and talked to my parents. I don't know what he said, but I think he told them that Sylla couldn't stand for the Hatching with her illness. It seemed to me that Sylla only got sicker when she found out." He paused for a moment. Arryn touched his arm encouragingly. "There was an awful row one night. I'd never heard my parents yell like that before. So I took to hanging about the weyrs of the youngest riders, the ones that would let me help wash their dragons and do other little odd jobs. By the end of a few weeks, when the eggs were hardening on the sands, I wasn't even sleeping at home. I'd find an empty storeroom and just…" He shrugged. "It was better than going home and hearing my parents argue and seeing Sylla sick like that."

"Just before the Hatching, Sylla died. It was a kitchen drudge who found me and told me that my mother was looking for me. And then Pareth's eggs hatched and they went on with it. My sister was dead and everyone in the weyr was happy. At least that's what it felt like," he amended.

"So that's why you were so beastly to everyone. You were still adjusting," said Arryn.

"No. Wait. There's more." P'tar's voice took on a strained quality as he continued. "I didn't figure it out until a little bit later. They _thought_ I was just a wherry-headed little boy that didn't know anything about the world. But I figured it out. I saw Sylla before they put her on her pyre. I sneaked into the room." He shuddered. "She was _with child_."

"She died giving birth?" Arryn asked before she could stop herself.

"No." He shook his head angrily. "She killed herself. They told me she'd died from her _illness_, that she had just been sick. But I wasn't stupid enough to believe that."

Arryn frowned. She'd heard of young girls whose bodies couldn't handle bearing a child at such a young age, and they'd died, from the exhaustion of it, she supposed. But there was such terrible anger and certainty in P'tar's eyes that she didn't ask any more questions.

When he was able to go on, P'tar said, "I was just so angry. When I saw you—a pretty girl almost a woman, ready to stand for a Hatching, with such a bright future….I guess it was like seeing her all over again, for me. I wanted to scream at her, to ask her why she'd been such a coward, why she'd left me alone. So I took it out on you. I was the real coward."

"I'm sorry," was all Arryn could say.

"Don't apologize to me," said P'tar. "I'm the one who should be apologizing to you." He shook his head. "I deserve it—I deserve for everyone to hate me."

"P'tar," Arryn said softly. "The past is the past. You can't change it. And you can't change what happened to Sylla. What you _can _change is now. Now and the future." She smiled. "And I think you've made a good start."

"You think?" He smiled weakly. "I guess groveling to a green-rider _is_ pretty pathetic," he said with his usual bite, but still with a smile.

"Absolutely," agreed Arryn. She took his arm and stood. "Come on, then."

"What?"

"Come on. You think you can escape telling your sob-story to everyone else? Shards, Lira will be rolling on the ground laughing by the time you're done."

"Well, I suppose I could provide some entertainment," replied P'tar dryly, walking with her back toward the cottage. "Then maybe we can laugh at the bronze-rider when he tries to walk. Bet he'll fall over, with that gimp leg of his."

Arryn rolled her eyes. "Oh, I forgot what the epitome of grace and coordination _you_ are…remember when K'lin had you by the ear in the tunnel? You hopped about like a bee-stung wherry."

"Hey, didn't you just say the past is the past?" asked P'tar, affronted.

"Pah," said Arryn. "I reserve the right to rub your nose in embarrassing moments anytime I please. It'll keep you humble."

"I'm plenty humble," protested P'tar. "Provided you don't overstep your boundaries, green-rider," he added devilishly.

Arryn rolled her eyes and surrendered him to the dubious mercies of Lira and Sh'len, who were regarding P'tar with wary glares, plainly suspecting that he was an evil spy of some sort, sent to sabotage their perfectly content morning.

"Hands up," ordered Lira with the air of a mother inspecting her son's hands for dirt and worms. Or, Lira's case, knives and other weapons.

"I am at your command, O blue-rider," drawled P'tar, raising his arms.

"Shut up," she said. "Hm. No weapons. That's a point in your favor."

"Do you really think I'd bother to bring weapons even if I wanted to hurt you?" asked P'tar drily. "I could take you with one hand tied behind my back."

"Ooooh," growled Lira. "Can I hit him, Arryn?"

"Be my guest," said Arryn.

P'tar yelped as Lira sprang at him. "I thought you said you liked me now!"

"I said _I _liked you. That doesn't mean Lira likes you. But if you need protection from a _girl_, then I can—"

"No! I'm fine! Ow—woman, gerroff me!" yelled P'tar as Lira caught up to him and gleefully tackled him.

"I think she's been waiting to do this for a long time," said Sh'len to Arryn, who nodded. "Should I go pull her off him?"

Arryn shrugged. "She's not _hurting_ him, really—" Then Lira succeeded in getting an arm-bar on P'tar, who was howling and tapping out frantically, his struggling useless against the weight of Lira's expertly sprawled body. It didn't look as though Lira intended to let him up or desist in twisting his arm the wrong way. Arryn and Sh'len looked at each other, then bolted toward the pair.

P'tar was still trying to regain his dignity—which was hard, considering that smug Lira kept casting lordly looks at him—when Bethre came to the door of the cottage and announced testily that they'd awoken T'ran. Lira and Sh'len were off like a shot.

"Can't believe you set her loose on me," muttered P'tar, finger-combing his hair as he and Arryn followed at a more sedate pace.

"What, did you expect me to protect you from her? Besides, now you're even," reasoned Arryn.

"Whatever," muttered P'tar. "Won't be confiding my deepest darkest secrets to _you_ again anytime soon."

"Hah," said Arryn, following him into the cottage, and running smack into the middle of Bethre's lecture.

"I thought dragon-riders were supposed to be _dignified, _supposed to be _models of good behavior_," the stern-faced healer was saying to a round-eyed and silent Lira. "But _no,_ here you are, tearing about and _waking up my patient!"_

"I was going to wake up _sometime_," came T'ran's voice. "But that was a good wake-up. Who were you thrashing, Lira?"

"P'tar," answered Lira with a wicked grin.

"Even better," said T'ran, who then proceeded to wave a cheery hello to P'tar.

"All right, all right," said Arryn, holding back a laugh. "Play nice. Everyone here is a friend."

"Everyone?" repeated Lira doubtfully, glaring at P'tar.

"Everyone," confirmed Arryn with a look that rivaled that of Bethre.

"Fine," muttered Lira sulkily.

The rest of the morning was spent in the cottage. Sh'len filled T'ran in on the particulars of his accident. T'ran grimaced when he learned of Chirath's death, and his face went still when Sh'len described Narenth's attempted suicide.

"I thought that was what she was doing," he admitted quietly. "But Ereth refused to believe me." He sighed. "Suppose we're going to have to talk to K'lin when we get back."

"Will he believe us?" asked Lira.

"I don't know," admitted Arryn. "I mean, we're only _just_ riders, you know? It's our word against hers."

"I think one of us should go back and watch, just in case she tries it again," suggested T'ran.

She can try again, for all I care, thought Arryn, but she held her tongue and said instead, "I agree. I think Sh'len should go."

They voted, and it was unanimous, even when Lira insisted that P'tar shouldn't be able to vote.

"I was voting for Sh'len anyway," protested P'tar. "Shards."

Lira stuck out her tongue at him. Sh'len stood, and he gripped T'ran's forearm in the customary sign of respect between riders. "Come back soon," he said. Then he gave the girls hugs and even shook P'tar's hand.

"See if Hint made it with his message to K'lin," added Arryn.

"Stupid little flit," muttered T'ran. "He's probably flirting with some green."

Arryn laughed.

"Well, they say fire-lizards imitate their owners," Lira said suggestively, waggling her eyebrows. She giggled when Arryn flushed and rolled her eyes. "Have a good trip, Sh'len!" she called after their friend. Then she turned back to T'ran. "So…d'you think you can come back today?"

To Arryn's surprise, T'ran shushed Lira hurredly. "Don't even mention me going back to the weyr," he whispered. "At least not around Bethre. The tyrant. She thinks she's going to keep me here until I'm totally well. She said at least a _week. _Maybe even a _month_." He looked at them in panic. "I can't stay here that long. I won't be able to stand it."

"Well then," said Lira smugly. She paused, then grinned devilishly. "Operation Bronze-Rider Sneak is in the works, never you fear. Come on." She grabbed Arryn's arm and dragged her toward the door. "Excuse us, but we've got an escape to mastermind."

T'ran watched them go, then grinned and laid back, resuming his count of the number of straws in the thatched roof above his bed, hoping that the girls could come up with something before he went mad with boredom.


	19. Chapter 19

**I am updating with all possible speed, and let me assure you, I am striving mightily to get this thing done before I depart for more training, because I hate it when authors leave me hanging. So do unto others and all that jazz. Annnnyway, thanks to those who reviewed my last chapter, and even though they're going up fast I'd still love to hear what you think--anything at all! Random musings about characters or the plotline or even just nitpicking. I don't mind, really. Happy reading!**

**Arwen, over and out!**

Yenar sent a kitchen boy from his Hold to Parrin's cottage, carrying a basket that was almost as big as him upon his back. Lira quickly relieved the boy, who looked to be about ten or twelve, of his burden, and was rewarded by a shy smile. "Lord Yenar sent ye all this," he said, and then turned around and took off down the path, his bare feet scuffing up dust.

"Wait!" Lira called. "Don't you want…something to drink?" she finished futilely, for the boy was already to the hill by the lake.

"He's probably afraid of being late," said Arryn. She was no stranger to the system of servants that ran a Hold. Being late could cost a worker their position, and under an unfair master or mistress, every second counted. But it was more likely the boy was just intimidated by the sight of four dragons lounging in a field.

"Hm," said Lira. "But look—we've got bread and cheese and some good roasted meats…oh, and your favorite!" She swished a wine-flagon.

"Hah. Very funny," said Arryn drily. "Come on, we have to get down to business."

"You're right," Lira replied. They sat down on the grass and she fished out a soft roll from the basket, tossing another to Arryn.

"Why don't we just ask Bethre to let T'ran go early?" suggested Arryn, munching on her roll. "If we explain to her that we have healers at the weyr, maybe she'll relent and see the sense of it."

"Or you could just tell her that he has to be back in time for a mating flight." Lira deftly dodged the remnants of Arryn's roll. "What, it's true! He gave you a promise pendant and everything!"

Arryn snorted at her weyrmate. "Does Baerth have his eyes on any pretty greens?"

"Oh, is this a meeting? Can I join in?" P'tar asked with over-the-top eagerness. He pranced from foot to foot like an overeager puppy. "Please, please, _pleeease?" _

"Only if you shut up and don't ever use that voice again," replied Lira, yanking him down to sit between them.

"Ow." He turned to Arryn and said in a stage-whisper, "She _really _doesn't like me."

Lira snorted.

"Anyway," continued P'tar. "What were we talking about again?"

_"I _was just asking Lira if Baerth had his eye on any pretty greens," Arryn said with a devilish wink at Lira. Then it was her turn to dodge a roll.

"What, is Baerth going to try for Maventh?" asked P'tar innocently. Lira gagged and Arryn just stared at him in shock. He considered the idea. "Although, on second thought, that could turn out to be a very beautiful thing…"

"That is so—so much like a _boy_," spluttered Arryn when she was able to talk again. Lira preferred to show her disapproval of his brainstorm by tackling him and putting him in an iron triangle hold.

"A _boy_?" gurgled P'tar indignantly from beneath Lira. He then winked at Arryn and proceeded to escape Lira's hold, flip her and pin her in a wrestling position that was very…er, compromising. Arryn could feel a blush heating her own cheeks just watching. Lira just screeched like a wounded hawk and struggled. P'tar grinned.

"Pity you had to pick a blue," he murmured before letting her up. She hit him again, glaring.

"I'm glad I never have to worry about your dragon flying mine," she spat.

Arryn held up her hands. "Whoa, whoa. Hold on. This is a meeting to plan an escape, not a murder. Both of you, relax, or I'll separate you," she commanded, feeling like a nanny reprimanding her charges. Lira subsided into sullen muttering and P'tar just smiled, happy as a mother wherry and looking rather pleased with himself. "All right," Arryn continued. "Now. We have to think of a plan."

"We could just stay here until Maventh rises. There's three dragons here—two dragons, two dragons that could fly her," P'tar amended hastily as Lira leaned forward, ready to lunge.

"I'm sure Maventh would like a bit more variety," replied Arryn, but inside she was thinking the plan over. It did have merit—it was simple, she'd give it that, but letting the whole of Ruatha witness her first mating flight? Her cheeks burned at the very suggestion. "And anyway, I'm pretty sure that would be classified as 'undignified,' according to Bethre."

"True." P'tar sat back. Arryn let him think, having the feeling that he'd thought up many inventive schemes in his day. Then he smiled. It was a smile she had often received, and loathed, because it meant that he had come up with something new and devilish to torture her. But now, it meant hope. "I have an idea."

"Good. I expected you'd be good at coming up with shady plans," said Arryn, grinning cheekily.

"No more talk like that, or I won't let you hear it."

"We could come up with something on our own," Lira needled him.

"Not as good as this, you couldn't," P'tar smirked, folding his arms.

"I don't think you even have a plan," continued Lira. "You just want to look good in front of Arryn."

"Do not!" objected P'tar hotly.

"Don't bring me into this!" protested Arryn at the same time.

"Look, blue-rider, you're about the same size as your friend, aren't you?" asked P'tar. After Lira thought for a moment and then grudgingly gave a nod, he continued with a bit of condescension thrown in for good measure. "It's simple—you and him switch places, just pull the covers up over you, make some moaning and groaning and then we whisk bronzey-boy off, back to the weyr."

"What about when Bethre finds out?" Lira asked suspiciously.

"Run like hell," replied P'tar.

"Why can't you do it?" asked Lira sharply. "You're a boy."

Arryn was beginning to see the sense of P'tar's plan. Though she was loathe to seem in support, she offered, "It does make a bit of sense, Lira. Neither of us are strong enough to catch T'ran, if he falls from Ereth, unless we got really lucky."

"True,"muttered Lira. Then she brightened. "Well, I've always wanted to be an actress." She scrunched up her face. "Tried it a bit, before I was Searched, but it didn't really work out. I could never remember my lines."

"There's really only a few lines you have to memorize," contributed P'tar, falling back with dramatic moaning and groaning. "You could even whine a bit. Like this," he said, taking on a high falsetto voice that he clearly thought was a dead-on imitation of T'ran. "Help me, save me, I'm a big strong bronze-rider, help me." He glanced at Arryn then continued his mimicry, adding kissing noises for effect. "I'm in love with the pretty green-rider—" Further kissing noises were stifled as Arryn proceeded to shove a roll in his mouth.

"I hope you choke," Lira said. P'tar spat out the roll at her and she shrieked. He scrambled away from her as she brandished a large loaf of bread. Arryn rolled her eyes. And the future of the weyr rested on them? Shards.

Later that afternoon, Arryn snuck in and visited T'ran when he was supposed to be sleeping. He was right—Bethre was a regular tyrant, chasing away everyone but Ilena, reasoning that it was _her_ house, after all.

"We have a plan," she whispered quickly. "Lira's going to pretend to be you and we're going to spirit you away and back to the weyr in the time it takes Bethre to figure it out. Do you think you'll be able to travel tonight?"

"If it means I'll escape that woman and her teas, then yes," T'ran said, shuddering. "I swear, she sits there all day and thinks of the most vile combinations of flavors you can imagine and then forces me to drink it. The last one made my stomach feel like it was about to explode. Though," he amended, "I do feel loads better than yesterday. I think I might even be able to walk."

"Might won't cut it," warned Arryn.

"I will be able to walk," he said with a weak smile.

"Just be ready tonight when we come, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled again but she could see he was struggling to stay awake, so she squeezed his hand and slipped out of the cottage before Bethre could catch her.

"Tonight," she confirmed to P'tar and Lira, who were waiting in the field, watching their dragons. Lira scrunched up her face.

"On second thought, why don't we just ask Yenar to make Bethre let T'ran go? Or get K'lin out here, for that matter," she said.

"First of all, T'ran is a bronze-rider, too, and look at the effect he has on her," reasoned Arryn.

"Namely, none," interjected P'tar.

"And second?" asked Lira.

"Second of all, this is more fun." Arryn grinned.

"You're just saying that because you're not the one who's stuck here fearing for her life," muttered Lira rebelliously. "But I'm a good weyrmate, I'm willing to make sacrifices for your happiness."

Arryn laughed and threw her arm about Lira's shoulders. "Don't be so melodramatic. You know you love the limelight. You could even invent a tale…like, we drugged you or knocked you out or somesuch. It would totally exonerate you."

"Like she'd believe me. I told you, I'm a horrible actress. And besides, that would _definitely_ put the finishing touches on her bad impression of us."

"That's true. You should probably just stick to my plan," said P'tar.

"Which is?" Lira asked drolly.

"Run like an angry wher's after you."

Lira sighed and rolled her eyes. "I s'pose that's going to have to do."

Later that afternoon, the trio regrouped by their dragons, surreptitiously outfitting them with riding gear and satchels of rations. Maventh swung her head about while Arryn was tugging at the straps. _Are we escaping tonight? _

_I suppose, if you can call it an escape, _replied Arryn wryly.

_I liked your uncle and his hospitality, _continued Maventh. _But it is well we are going tonight. _

_Why? _Arryn asked suspiciously, pausing in her work to study her dragon.

_Because I think I am going to rise within the next sevenday. _Maventh flexed her wings, and to Arryn's annoyance she noticed that the bronze and brown were following her dragon's every movement with interest. Baerth was as well, but she ignored that unwelcome fact.

_Lovely_, she replied. _Thank you for the forewarning._ She finished with the riding gear and, with a last pat to Maventh's emerald hide, she turned to help Lira with Ereth's riding gear. A bit of ingenuity, coupled with some strong twine and a needle, had repaired T'ran's riding gear, although Arryn wouldn't trust it for more than one hasty flight. Lira had also come up with the idea of putting a safety-strap on the gear, attached to Ereth's harness in such a way that even if the principal leg-straps—the ones that had been shorn through—gave out, T'ran would be in no real danger of falling.

"Everyone ready?" asked Arryn as they finished with the big bronze's gear. Ereth rumbled and huffed at her, brushing her hair away from her face. She wrinkled her nose at the dragon. _No more of that._

"I suppose it's time to put this wherry-headed plan into action," muttered Lira.

"It's not wherry-headed," said P'tar defensively.

"All right," cut in Arryn, effectively silencing the bickering pair. "P'tar, you watch the door and tell us when Bethre comes out. Then distract her." She grabbed Lira and began making her way to the opposite side of the cottage.

"Wait! Distract her! What am I supposed to do?" hissed P'tar.

"I don't know! Throw a rock or something!" Arryn whispered hurredly back.

"Oy! _Wait!"_

She ignored P'tar's frantic motioning. She didn't want to go over there and talk to him. She wanted to focus on bringing P'tar back to the weyr so she could stop feeling like she was on pins and needles and glancing at Maventh every ten seconds to make absolutely certain that she wasn't glowing or thinking any unusually bloodthirsty or lustful thoughts. Shards, in all honesty, she wanted to get it over with and be certain that he was hers. And vice versa, of course. She glanced at Lira. "So _does_ Baerth like any of the greens?"

To her great surprise and amusement, Lira blushed. Hotly. Lira almost never blushed. Arryn smothered her uncharacteristic giggling fit behind one hand and kept poking Lira with the other, until her weyrmate finally hissed, "All right! All right! Baerth really likes Plenneth!"

Arryn dropped her hand and her mouth became a perfect 'o' of astonishment. Then she grinned. "H'rath, eh? I _knew_ I was setting something up that day when you first met him, back when we were weyrlings!"

"Oh, _you_ set me up? I seem to recall that _I _was the one who rescued you from an awkward conversation!"

"And for that, you forever have my gratitude," expostulated Arryn with a flourish of her hand.

Lira snorted. "Shut up and watch for the signal."

"We have a signal? What's the signal?"

"_That's_ the signal!" Lira said, pointing to P'tar, who was crouched just behind the fence. The brown-rider stood and casually rubbed the back of his neck as Bethre emerged, looking as if he were merely stretching—but anyone paying close attention would have seen that he was wildly gesturing to the door with his eyes. It was a rather odd sight. Lira grabbed Arryn's hand and dragged her behind as they barreled into the room.

"Come on!"

"T'ran!" said Arryn. "Time to go!"

T'ran was out of the bed in a reasonably quick time, considering his broken ribs and badly twisted ankle. Already dressed in his riding gear, he grabbed his headgear from under the bed and accepted Arryn's hand. She slung his arm over her shoulder and they were off like an awkward jolting three-legged race while Lira made herself comfortable in T'ran's bed.

Outside the cottage, they found that P'tar had indeed distracted Bethre, but was losing her attention fast. He seemed to be trying to _flirt_ with the healer, and his attempts were clearly lost on the tough woman. She put her hand on her hip and loudly demanded that he stop blocking the gate and let her go find some herbs—there was some just behind him, and that was all she needed.

Arryn hastily eyed their potential escape routes—the field with the dragons was almost directly beside the cottage. To get to it, they had to either cut in front of or behind the cottage, and either way they would be putting themselves in Bethre's sight-line if she wasn't properly distracted. "C'mon, P'tar," Arryn groaned as the brown-rider gave up and let the healer past, shrugging his shoulders at her in helplessness. Swearing under her breath, Arryn chose their path and they bolted. As they ran, she asked Maventh to bring the other dragons closer—casually, casually! As if they were merely ambling about looking for a spot to sun.

The three dragons began walking toward them, slowly and carelessly. T'ran's breaths were growing more and more ragged. Arryn pushed at his back to make him go faster. He stumbled and they both nearly fell, but Arryn grabbed at his shoulder and kept them upright. They made it to the dragons and she laced her fingers together to boost T'ran up onto Ereth's neck, but he shook his head at her.

"I'll break your hands," he panted.

"You've got a better idea?" she retorted. "I'll be fine. Do you want to get out of here or not?"

He swore—not at her—gripped the straps and jumped up as far as he could before putting his weight on Arryn's hands. She winced and thought she heard something pop, but she could still flex all her fingers. _Mav!_ she said. _Ready to go? _

_I am always ready,_ Maventh said, a hint of amusement in her voice. _This is fun._

_Glad you think so,_ Arryn replied as she swung herself up onto her dragon's neck. She was tugging on her headgear when she heard an indignant yell from the direction of the cottage. Twisting, she saw Bethre slap P'tar—for what, she didn't quite care, but it was rather amusing—and then stride angrily back into the cottage. Oh no. Arryn winced. P'tar was hovering uncertainly at the gate, clearly unsure of whether to bolt or cover their escape a little longer.

Then a piercing shriek erupted from the cottage, punctuated by a yell of surprise and anger. Arryn winced again, more at the shrillness of the scream than anything else.

Lira came tearing out of the cottage at full sprint, her long legs extended to their fullest. Bethre hadn't managed to recover from the surprise yet to follow her.

"What do we do now?" P'tar shouted at her as she hurtled across the yard toward him.

"I think this is the part of the plan where we run like hell!" shouted back Lira as she vaulted the fence and was off again, running for all she was worth. P'tar stood for a moment longer, confused—until a clearly furious Bethre burst out of the cottage in all her terrifying glory. He turned and sprinted after Lira.

"Wait! Wait _up!_ Is this how you treat a fellow rider, deserting them?" he howled indignantly.

"Shut up and run!" Lira shot over her shoulder.

"You have no right!" Bethre was yelling lustily. "That boy is in no condition to travel, much less _fly_ on a _dragon!_ Come back here this instant!"

"Like that's going to happen," muttered T'ran from atop Ereth.

"Go!" Arryn made shooing motions with her hands. "Take off already! You're the one she's after!"

"Oh. Right." With that, T'ran gripped his riding straps and Ereth pushed off the ground in a mighty heave—a little clumsier than usual, thought Arryn as she watched the bronze gain altitude, but other than that, there seemed to be no major side effects of the unfortunate events that had taken place during the Fall.

_Should we go as well? _Maventh asked.

Arryn considered waiting for P'tar and Lira, but then decided that it would be better if she escorted T'ran and Ereth back to the weyr. After all, the running _was_ P'tar's idea. _Yes. Let's go. _

Before she had time to draw another breath, they were in the air, Maventh's wings beating a fast tempo as she cut through the sky toward Ereth. Arryn projected the image of the Weyrbowl to Ereth, who gave her his mental agreement and assurance that he was quite well enough to go _between_. Ereth and T'ran blinked out. Arryn glanced down below, laying out on Maventh's neck to catch a glimpse of the two remaining riders. Lira had reached Baerth and it seemed P'tar was trading insults with Bethre as he scrambled for Grath. She smiled slightly, and then they slid into the cold of _between_.


	20. Chapter 20

**Okay, this thing called rapid updating has now ratcheted up to warp speed. Hold on, kids, because the end of this story is comin atcha fast! (Not in this chapter, admittedly, but I'm getting cloooose!) Anyway, I hope you like this latest installment...and as a footnote, I am going to add that as the author I reserve the right to subject my readers to cliffhangers at any time I choose. Bwhahaha. Enjoy, nevertheless!**

**Arwen, over and out!!**

The sun balanced on the rim of the Weyrbowl like a great red coin, burnishing the weyr with its last rays. Arryn plopped down on her furs and sighed with relief as she pulled her boots off. Lira shot her a glare.

"What," said Arryn, "you can't still be mad at me."

"You're saying I shouldn't be? You left me to the mercies of Bethre! Who _isn't_, may I add, _merciful!" _Lira said vengefully.

"Drama queen," muttered Arryn. "You made a clean getaway. I don't know what you're complaining about."

"D'you know how _sore_ I'm going to be tomorrow from jumping that fence?" asked Lira.

"D'you know what a _headache_ I'm going to have if you don't stop whining?" retorted Arryn. "Admit it. The whole affair was more excitement than you've had since your first Fall."

"So you say," muttered Lira.

"Why did Bethre slap P'tar, anyway?" Arryn asked casually, unlacing her vest.

Lira stifled a giggle. "You should ask him yourself."

"What? Oh, you spoilsport, just tell me!" wheedled Arryn.

"No, really, you should, the look on his face is priceless."

"How about you tell me and then I pretend I don't know and ask him anyway," reasoned Arryn. When Lira seemed unmoved, she added a threat. "I'll tickle you. I swear I will."

"Oh, fine, fine!" Lira laughed and relented, braiding her mane of golden hair distractedly as she continued. "P'tar found that flirting wasn't exactly impressing Bethre. So once she gathered her herbs, apparently she was going to turn around and see you and T'ran hobbling your way across the field—"

"We were not _hobbling_," interrupted Arryn.

"Do you want to hear what happened or not?" demanded Lira. "Anyway, as I was saying before I was so _rudely_ interrupted, Bethre was going to turn around and discover the plot. So P'tar, the wherry-brained idiot, decides that although his _flirting_ didn't work on Bethre, maybe his _kissing_ would."

"He _didn't!" _said Arryn with wide eyes and half a grin.

"He _did!"_ confirmed Lira, sending Arryn into a fit of silent laughter. "He bent her over like a kitchen wench and kissed her smack on the mouth, and she hit him in the head with her herb-basket and then slapped him!"

"Oh, that's good," gasped Arryn, wiping a tear from her eye. She grinned at her weyrmate. "We know what does P'tar's thinking for him, and it's obviously not his _head!" _

That sent them both into another fit of laughter.

"When did we get so ridiculous?" wondered Lira, recovering from a spasm of giggles.

"When we decided we were crazy enough to be dragon-riders, I guess," replied Arryn. She looked down at herself and grimaced. "Uck. I'm going to go take a bath."

"Can I come with you?" Lira batted her eyes suggestively. "We could re-enact P'tar's dearest fantasy, with lots of soap-bubbles—"

"Shut up and get your clothes," groaned Arryn before her imaginative weyrmate could reveal any further details of P'tar's so-called 'dearest fantasy.' Then she shocked herself by thinking that she wouldn't mind re-enacting it with T'ran, if it involved what she thought…but then, she amended with a sly smile, P'tar wouldn't really want to watch at all. _Oy, Mav, _she said to her dragon as they passed on their way to the baths, _you'd better rise soon. These thoughts are driving me crazy. _

_ Don't blame me, _said Maventh innocently.

Arryn sighed in forbearance and quickened her pace to catch up with Lira.

When they'd arrived back at Benden, it was to find a very worried K'lin awaiting them, standing with the watch-dragon on the fire-heights.

_Maventh! It's Maventh!_ called the green dragon to the watch-dragon, who turned out to be green Rilith with her rider R'sen. R'sen pumped his fist as they passed overhead and Arryn returned the gesture with an exuberant grin.

Maventh landed daintily in the Weyrbowl, folding her wings with a flourish as several dragons bugled their welcome. The others were fairly slobbering over her, Arryn thought with a tinge of jealousy. She wasn't used to seeing so many others _interested_ in her dragon in _that way_. It made her feel rather protective.

"We need a healer," she said to K'lin as T'ran slid down from Ereth's neck. He was careful not to put any pressure on his left ankle, she noted.

"Already on his way," said the wing-second. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Shards, but I'm glad to see you, Arryn. You gave us all a scare."

"We gave _you_ a scare?" replied Arryn with a grin. She jabbed her thumb at T'ran. "_He_ gave _me _a scare, is more like."

K'lin shook his head and grinned at her high spirits. "Where are the other two? The brown-rider and the girl on her blue?"

"Oh…they had to tie up some loose ends," said Arryn after a moment. "They'll be here." And sure enough, as if on cue, Grath and Baerth burst almost simultaneously into the sky, trumpeting their identity to Rilith, who acknowledged them with a little bugle of greeting. She arched her eyebrows at K'lin in a look that clearly said _Told you so. _

The healer, a short man with a cocky little moustache, arrived and promptly slung T'ran over his shoulder, over the bronze-rider's protests and Ereth's rumble.

"That _is _rather undignified," said K'lin to the healer.

"He'll be even more undignified on crutches, which is where he's going to be if he walks any more on that sprain," replied the man with a grunt.

K'lin turned to Arryn and shrugged. "Make sense."

Arryn caught a bit of T'ran's mental protest. _Ereth, can't you make him _stop? the bronze-rider asked in exasperation.

_Why? He is not hurting anything but your pride. Anyway, I think the only way to stop him would be to eat him, and I don't like to eat after noon. _

_ Thanks. I knew I could count on you,_ replied T'ran sarcastically, going limp in resignation as the healer trundled him across the Weyrbowl, looking very much like some type of insect bearing a burden much larger than itself back to its nest. Arryn tried valiantly to hide her smile.

Grath and Baerth landed and their riders made their way across the Bowl to where K'lin stood with Arryn. The wingsecond looked them up and down and then nodded. "Well done," he said in what was clearly a dismissal. Lira, still flushed from her sprint across the field, waggled her eyebrows at Arryn in a gesture that said she was bursting to tell her something. Arryn winked—_Tell me later._

Beside her, K'lin sighed. "Do you mind if we talk for a moment, Arryn?"

"Of course not, Wingsecond," replied Arryn.

K'lin batted away her formality irritably with one hand. "I need to talk to you about what you saw on the day of the Fall."

"Concerning the Queen," Arryn guessed grimly.

"Yes. One of the greens in the Queen's Wing—Weliath, by name—mentioned something to Pertanth about the queen acting…rather oddly."

"Did Weliath say anything in particular?" Arryn asked carefully. She was very well aware of the fact that she was treading on dangerous ground. Unfounded accusations could have very serious repercussions, even if not against the weyr's senior queen. Against their only queen.

"She seemed reluctant to talk about it. Almost as if she were…frightened." K'lin looked at Arryn keenly. They both knew it was very rare for dragons to be frightened for any reason other than their rider's safety.

Arryn took a deep breath. "Well, I don't know why Weliath was frightened, but I can guess why." She took another breath. This was it. Out with it. "When I was flying sweep above the Queen's Wing, I saw Narenth fly toward a pocket of Thread faster than any of the other dragons could keep up." She met K'lin's eyes. "Narenth knows the limitations of any dragon, especially the ones in her wing. Linnara's flamethrower was down, the safety still on." She waited, reluctant to say it out loud if she didn't have to, if she could nudge K'lin into understanding; but his eyes were flinty, giving away nothing. "Narenth and Linnara attempted to commit suicide," she said.

For a moment, K'lin simply gazed at her silently. She was starting to fidget when he finally nodded thoughtfully. "M'ran's death was very hard on Linnara."

"But—" She couldn't stop herself. The anger came welling up like a floodtide. "Surely you don't see that as an _excuse_ for her behavior!"

"Sometimes people are simply not strong enough to deal with what life gives them," said K'lin steadily.

"Because of her, a dragon and his rider are _dead!" _cried Arryn, losing all semblance of restraint. She trembled, her hands clenched at her sides, furious at the wing-second's indifference. "And another pair almost died!"

"Chirath and O'pir are not dead because of the Weyrwoman," said K'lin tightly, obviously restraining himself. "Mistakes were made, but none deliberately, save that a dragon and her rider were too torn with grief to make a rational decision."

He was shaking too, and Arryn realized that he was blaming himself.

_I don't think the Queen's Wing should even be fighting in this Fall, but Linnara is insisting upon it. _

He was blaming himself for not overriding the distraught woman's decision to fight.

_The greens and blues could well be used in other places, but she won't listen to reason. _

He was blaming himself for the death of Chirath and O'pir, for the accident that had nearly claimed T'ran and Ereth's lives as well. A new surge of anger washed over Arryn. Maventh rumbled unhappily. She wouldn't let K'lin shoulder a burden that wasn't his to bear—the fault rested with _Linnara! _ She stepped up closer to K'lin, not caring that he was the wing-second of Benden Weyr and she, a young green-rider with the char from her first Fall still fresh on her boots. Right now, they were simply two people, drawn taut by the emotions that raged within them.

"You listen to me, K'lin," she said fiercely. "It is _not_ your fault that Chirath and O'pir died. It is _not _your _fault_. I _saw_ them die," she said, "and they died because some wherry-brained idiot lost their head down in the Queen's Wing and panicked. You want to place blame somewhere, place it where it _belongs_." Her eyes were blazing. "Place it on the _Weyrwoman."_ She spat out her last sentence with a rancor she hadn't known she possessed. "Because _she _was the one that was going to let _her dragon—her _queen—_kill herself._ Think about that. Doesn't that deserve a little bit of blame, a little bit of guilt? A dragon-rider's duty is to their _weyr_, and to all of Pern, not to their own personal problems." Each word was leaving her lips with a bite, each syllable filled with fury. Then she took a breath, and seemed to calm herself.

"Think about that before you blame yourself, K'lin," she said in a quieter voice.

K'lin stared at her wordlessly.

"I'm sorry for being such an upstart," apologized Arryn, even more quietly. "And I think I'm going to go and take a nap, because I'm very tired from all this emotional speech-making."

K'lin half-smiled at that. Then, as she turned to leave, he spoke. "Arryn?"

She turned back.

"I'm glad you're safe," he said. She acknowledged his words with a little nod, and then continued on her way to her weyr, and a nap, and a hot bath.

The next few days passed in a blur for Arryn. She filled them with hot baths to soothe her still-aching muscles and food to comfort her stomach, which tightened every time someone mentioned Linnara. Or when she looked out on the ledge and saw Maventh posing like a lusty tavern wench, positioning herself and laying out her wings and tail so that the bronzes and browns and blues could properly ogle the smooth lines of her long, lithe frame. Some part of Arryn felt smug whenever a rider stepped out of his way to greet her, but another part was disdainful, because she knew what all of them wanted. Oh, she wouldn't have minded kissing a few of them—the riders of Benden Weyr were by no means without charm or looks. At least most of them.

Then she would touch her pendant, and remember T'ran, and his smile…and firmly put all thoughts of kissing out of her mind. She visited him when she could, which was often, as K'lin had excused her from drills for 'as long as she needed,' as he termed it with a meaningfully raised eyebrow and a stern look. As long as she needed. She guessed it meant as long as it took her to get over her grudge against the Weyrwoman, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

To her relief, T'ran was allowed to walk about on the fourth day of his return. The healer had devised a clever boot that supported the injured muscles of the bronze-rider's ankle, and as long as he laced it tight, T'ran claimed he was fit to run a foot-race. Arryn didn't quite believe him, and it made her nervous. But it was encouraging to see that Ereth was fit and gleaming, all signs of the ordeal erased from his glimmering hide, save a slight white scar along his flank. Maventh confided to Arryn that she thought the scar looked dashing. Arryn only snorted in reply, amused by her dragon's musings.

On the sixth day, she awoke and went through her normal morning routine, taming her wild hair into a plait and dragging Lira out of her bed so that she wouldn't have to walk to breakfast alone. When she passed Maventh on the ledge, her dragon was still sleeping.

When Maventh awoke, Arryn dropped her spoonful of porridge, splattering V'remnar and Lira. She stiffened and everyone at the table knew.

It was time.


	21. Chapter 21

**Like I said, warp-speed. Just a warning, kids, content in this chapter is probably hovering around 'M', so if you can't handle a pretty intense mating flight then I'd suggest skipping it. Thanks a bunch for reading and I hope you like it!**

**Arwen, over and out!!**

Arryn felt her dragon awaken like a punch to the gut. Emotions washed over her, the emotions that she realized the older riders had described to her. Hunger. Lust. Wanting. _Need._

She didn't realize that she dropped her spoon and splattered hot porridge on V'remnar and Lira. She also didn't hear both V'remnar and Lira draw in sharp breaths as they, too, felt their dragons' responses. It was almost as if she was blind—she stumbled and almost fell as she pushed away from the table but someone caught her—another green-rider, she thought—and helped her out to a ledge.

She was breathing hard. Losing control. Feeling Maventh launch from the ledge, quick as the wind itself, her glorious wings cutting through the air with ease and grace and agility that she knew no male would be able to match.

Defiance.

She fought Maventh as the green downed a herdbeast. The token blood, wet on the grass, as the dragon sucked the beast dry and rent the carcass with her claws, feeling the strength of her lithe body as her claws broke through flesh and cracked bone.

Arryn was unaware that riders circled about her, their eyes half-closed and glazed like her own, their hands twitching in phantom motions as they, too, felt what their dragons felt, let it wash over them in great crashing waves. The green downed a second beast, then a third, sucking them dry and glowing bright in the morning sun, too bright to look at for long.

Anger.

Who were these males, these dragons who thought they could catch her, who thought they could _possess_ her like a thing to be played with, like a _toy?_ Maventh shrieked her fury and leapt into the air, her wings slicing through the sky as she sped away from them, quick as a swallow. With a great collective roar, the gathered dragons launched after her, and the chase was on.

She was a green, yes, but she would not let it be _easy_. She was as big as a brown and she was as fast as a queen and she would make them strain their wings until their tendons popped and they screamed in pain.

Far below, Arryn snarled at a rider who tried to touch her—his face was blurred, it didn't matter, all that mattered was the strength and power and _need_ coursing through her veins and she wouldn't have anyone but the strongest. The fastest.

A brown and two blues had already dropped out of the chase, unable to keep up with Maventh's blazing pace. The green dragon let out a cry of triumph and suddenly dove, rocketing down toward the ground with frightening speed while taunting her pursuers. Arryn let her fingers trail over the taut line of V'remnar's shoulders, the tense muscles of K'lin's jaw, the muscular slope of P'tar's arm, the fascinating expanse of T'ran's back. Their breath mingled and there were moans and sighs…from which throat no-one could tell. They were enveloped in a cocoon of desperate emotion, oblivious to anything but the dragons streaking through the sky overhead.

Maventh wore them down. She was determined, defiant, _desperate_ to have the best. Lust coursed through her, fueled her wing-beats, gave her voice an edge when she called out to them, luring them on, urging them to go faster, to try and claim her. She glanced behind her and saw in pleasure that there were only three bronzes and a brown left. She was impressed—normally the bronzes had trouble, being large…but then again, she was as big as a brown and here she was leading them through the sky at a breakneck pace, just waiting for them to snap.

The green considered her pursuers…her options. There was Grath, the brown…not overly handsome but definitely determined. And fast enough to stay with the bronzes. She admired that. She rolled above and over her pursuers, letting her tail graze Grath's wing. The brown roared.

Arryn leaned toward P'tar, her lips pausing just a fraction of an inch away from his—he could feel her warm breath and he made a sound deep in his throat—and then her lips grazed his as she whirled away.

Then there was Devarith. Maventh particularly liked the way his bronze hide was a color so deep it was almost red. She reversed direction without warning and brushed briefly against Devarith, handsome young thing.

Arryn pressed herself against V'remnar, barely hearing his groan of pleasure and anticipation. She kissed him hard, fingers raking his shoulders, and then spun out of his grasp.

Beside Devarith was his weyrmate, Ereth. Fine young bronze. There was something about him, though, that made Maventh skirt over him, not think fully about his potential. She moved on to the next.

Arryn paused by T'ran, then moved on.

Pertanth. Ah, yes, Pertanth. Maventh knew his bright body, knew that many watched him when he flew and it gave her a tingle of pleasure and pride to know that he _wanted_ her. She slowed for a moment to better admire his sleek body, and to her surprise he put on a burst of speed—shards, he was _fast—_his neck touched hers, his tail twining, feeling, feeling…

K'lin grabbed Arryn abruptly, interrupting her orbit around the circle of panting riders. He kissed her roughly and she responded with enthusiasm, mind lust-blinded—she knew this practiced kiss, she knew these calloused hands, she knew the passion in his breath as he moaned into her mouth. His hands were in her hair—Pertanth's wings were slowing as he felt sure of his prize. K'lin kissed the hollow of her throat and she arched back—Maventh arched back—

And screamed in fury. Insolent boy who thought he could catch her when she was not _ready_ to be caught. Arryn's nails dug into K'lin's neck as Maventh tore herself from Pertanth's grasp and the bronze moaned in misery, seeing his prize speed away from him, flicking her tail in derision. Arryn shoved at K'lin's chest with a growl and he fell, landing on his back, blinking dazedly.

So now it was down to three. The brown and two bronzes. Maventh screamed her challenge at them and watched in amusement as they tried to respond, wings laboring to go faster. She would make them pay for their thoughts of lust, their thoughts of possession. Deliberately she slowed, and they bugled, jostling each other fiercely to gain even the slightest touch. She allowed the tip of her tail to tantalize Ereth.

Arryn brushed her fingertips against T'ran's neck. He caught her hand, breathing heavily, and blinked, separating himself from the dragon-lust with a great effort of will. He saw the girl he loved in front of him, helpless, overpowered by the emotions of her magnificent dragon, her Maventh. His heart swelled, and he kissed her tenderly, caressing her cheek with one thumb.

In the sky above them, the brilliantly green dragon slowed, checked herself, paused. Then, with a bell-like bugle, she unerringly dove toward Ereth. He caught her and then they were falling, twining necks, twining tails in ecstasy.

Far below, T'ran swept Arryn up into his arms, his kisses were becoming more and more urgent, and he steadily walked back to his weyr, closing the door firmly behind them.


	22. Chapter 22

**Well, dear readers, we are nearing the end of this interesting journey! I've loved writing about Arryn and getting to know her (weird, yes, but I'm an author, you'll have to suffer my quirks.) I'm toying with the idea of this being the last chapter in this story. I don't know, really; it just depends if I decide I want to go somewhere else with it before closing it. I feel this could be a suitable ending. What do you think? Seriously, I'm in need of feedback here. So kindly give it to me, and happy reading, as always!**

**Arwen, over and out!!**

Arryn had expected the riders whose dragons had been rejected by Maventh to be cold toward her, and perhaps even spiteful, especially in the case of P'tar. Although they seemed to be at a truce, they still had their differences with one another, and she was sure he would take advantage of the opportunity to bother her to no end. She was less nervous about encountering V'remnar, knowing that he was in constant good cheer and when things didn't turn his way, he didn't let it depress or anger him. K'lin, though, also presented a tricky situation—she remembered shoving him, after Maventh rejected Pertanth, and the dazed look on his face as he gazed up at her. She supposed he was a man unused to rejection.

With a small sigh, she extracted herself from the furs and pulled on a shirt and trousers, gathering her clothes from where they had haphazardly landed. Picking up her undershirt from the arm of a chair, she glanced back at T'ran, who was still sleeping peacefully. His dark hair was rumpled and his face was so…soft. He looked younger, younger than the responsible, dependable bronze-rider that fought Thread and would have sacrificed himself for his queen. Her stomach tightened at the thought. She forced herself away from the panic that welled up within her—and then she realized that this was what Linnara had felt. This, this flighty sadness sitting heavily in her chest at the very thought of losing the man she loved.

Then she smiled. She loved him. It was the first time she had even thought it. She reached out to Maventh, to tell her about it, and found that her dragon was out on the hunting grounds again.

_Hungry again, dearest? _she asked with a droll smile.

_I flew far and fast yesterday. My wings are sore, _replied Maventh frankly. _And I did not get a chance to eat anything after the flight. _

_ Well, of course you didn't, _said Arryn devilishly. _I'm just surprised you aren't lazing out on the ledge with Ereth. _

_ I was _hungry_ and I asked him whether he wanted to come and he said no, _said Maventh, felling a herdbeast and ripping into it with a relish. Arryn's own stomach rumbled as her dragon's hunger awakened her own appetite.

_ I'm hungry, too, now,_ Arryn informed Maventh with a sigh. She walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, gazing at T'ran for just a moment before reaching out and touching his bare shoulder. The slight contact sent a thrill through her. He blinked and murmured something under his breath as he woke.

"Morning," said Arryn cheerily as he shot her a bleary-eyed look. "You're lucky Maventh's a morning dragon, because I'm sort of a morning person now."

"Oh, yes," muttered T'ran. "Bloody brilliant." He rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand.

"Do you want to come and get some breakfast?" Arryn asked. "Maventh's already out hunting and she made me hungry."

"Oh," T'ran said again. "Um. Sure. Just let me get…some clothes on…"

Arryn grinned at him, but her smile turned to a look of concern as he froze in the middle of rolling over, his face paling. "Are you all right?" she asked, but then answered her own question. Of course he wasn't all right. Only a sevenday ago he'd been bashed between two dragons and then nearly drowned, and yesterday he had picked her up and carried her, and then they'd given in to the dragonlust fully once in his weyr. She was quite sure that the healer wouldn't include their activities in the category of 'bedrest.'

"It's just…my ribs, I think," he panted.

"I'll go get the healer," she said, standing quickly.

"Anybody but Ulin," groaned T'ran. "He slung me over his shoulder like a sack of firestone when we first got here, if you remember. Did wonders for my ribs."

"Hmph. Healer's not worth his knots," muttered Arryn as she hunted for her second boot. After finding it and pulling it on, she left firm orders with Ereth not to let his rider out of bed at all, and set off in search of a proper healer.

To her consternation, the first person she encountered was V'remnar. Her cheeks burned as she approached him, but he smiled cheekily at her and clapped her lightly on the back as he passed. That wasn't so bad, she thought, continuing down into the healer's quarters.

Down in the healer's quarters, she found a rosy-cheeked woman intent on repairing an herb basket. She cleared her throat and the woman looked up at her and smiled.

"You're Maventh's rider, aren't you?" she asked, still smiling as she put her work aside.

"Um. Yes. How did you know that?" replied Arryn, wrinkling her nose.

A green fire-lizard chirruped and moved from where she had been lazing on the bed.

"Mira told me," the healer replied. "She's very fond of Maventh, by the way."

"Oh." Arryn had noticed Maventh's fondness for the little dragon-like creatures before, but she hadn't taken particular notice of it until now, with both Hint and Mira showing preference for her dragon.

"Maventh is really very patient with them," continued the healer, "a trait you don't find often in the larger dragons."

"Maventh's still a green," pointed out Arryn somewhat sheepishly.

"Yes," agreed the woman, "but there's something about her. Something different, other than the fact that she's so big. I think there's something different about you, too."

"Well, I can assure you, I'm a very normal green-rider who's very sore from her dragon's first rising," said Arryn. The healer giggled. "I'm Arryn, by the way."

"Paela," said the healer. "And do you need me to fix you up after that first flight, is that it?"

"Oh, no!" said Arryn with half a laugh. "It's actually,um, the bronze-rider whose dragon flew mine," she finished in a rush, heat coming to her cheeks. She didn't quite know the etiquette—how did one introduce one's lover, exactly?

"Ah," said Paela slyly, "did you wear him out?" Mira gave a little gurgle that sounded almost like a chuckle, her eyes whirling in perfect imitation of her larger cousins.

"Well, yes and no," admitted Arryn. "You see, he was involved in an accident about a sevenday ago—"

"Oh, he's _that_ rider? And his dragon flew yours? Hah," said Paela, suddenly standing and rummaging about the room until she found an embroidered bag and slung it over her shoulder. "No _wonder_ he's sore. Boy had at least two bruised ribs. Couldn't say for sure they weren't cracked, not after that idiot Ulin carried him across the entire Weyrbowl." Paela gave a snort as Arryn tried to hide a smile. "He must really like you, then, to get on his feet and out for the flight."

"Yes, I suppose," the green-rider replied softly, suddenly struck with an uncharacteristic wave of shyness as the healer touched upon the newest facet of her life.

"All right," Paela finally said. She held out a wrist to Mira, and the little green hopped on with a chirp, daintily wrapping her tail about Paela's arm. "Lead on, O green-rider."

Arryn led Paela to the door of T'ran's weyr and then left her there briefly. She found T'ran sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to muster enough energy to put on a shirt. He'd already managed to slip on some trousers, she noticed, but just like that fateful night after his first Fall, they were barely clinging to his hips, presenting her with a wonderful view of his bare torso. A shiver raced up her spine unbidden. She cleared her throat and he looked at her.

"I've fetched a healer," she said. "Not Ulin. Her name's Paela. I think you'll like her." But don't like her too much, she added silently, surprising herself with a twinge of jealousy at the thought of Paela touching T'ran.

"All right," said T'ran. His voice was tired. "Just let me get a shirt on."

"I think you could probably leave it off, if it's your ribs that are bothering you," suggested Arryn almost grudgingly. A part of her wanted to swaddle him up to his ears—he was _her_ bronze-rider, and she didn't want any healer getting ideas. But she took a deep breath, restraining herself as she walked back over to the entrance of the weyr. "He's decent, Paela. You may come in."

Paela headed straight for T'ran. She jabbed at his shoulder with one finger. "Lie down, there's a good rider." Her hands quickly traveled along his sides, her face stern and business-like. Arryn relaxed a little and ventured closer. T'ran caught his breath and suppressed a pained sound, only partially succeeding. Paela glanced at his face and then pressed at his side again, nodding when T'ran jerked.

"You've probably cracked one of your bruised ribs, or agitated it more, in any case," pronounced Paela. She swung the strap of her satchel over her head and rummaged through it. "I'm going to bind your ribs. Might hurt a little, I'm afraid."

"Don't you have any numbweed?" asked Arryn before she could stop herself. She smiled and shrugged at T'ran, feeling very much like a mother wherry.

"Numbweed won't penetrate that far," replied Paela. "He's a strong lad. He can take it."

Arryn caught the flash of panic that surfaced for just a moment on T'ran's face. "How can I help?" she asked.

"Sit behind him and hold his shoulders," instructed Paela.

Arryn quickly arranged herself behind T'ran, feeling the heat of his body. She also felt Maventh checking up on her, and then discreetly leaving her alone. It seemed the green dragon had learned a bit of tact after all.

Paela unrolled a strip of linen and began to bind T'ran's ribs. He held his breath until she reprimanded him gently. Arryn held his shoulders and wished she could help with the pain, somehow. Finally it was done, and although it took him a few moments to recover, T'ran finally said that he did feel better with the wrapping about his sides.

The rest of the day passed in a lazy drift for Arryn. The next morning, V'remnar stopped by and started boxing up his things, saying with a wink at Arryn that he thought the arrangement suited T'ran better.

"But where will you live?" Arryn asked in concern.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find somewhere," he said with a wink.

"He's got his eye on Brenneth," said T'ran.

"Oh, is that the other green who has a female rider?" asked Arryn innocently. She'd spoken to Brenneth's rider occasionally before and knew very well who T'ran was talking about."What's her name?"

"Delilah," sighed V'remnar dramatically, posing with his hand over his heart.

"Isn't she…like, at least six turns older than you?" asked Arryn. T'ran smothered a grin. But the exuberant V'remnar merely grinned as well and said something about some women getting better with age, like Tillek wine. Arryn threw a pillow at him and he retreated.

Arryn was on watch the morning that Plenneth rose. She felt it in her gut again, but not nearly as intense as it had been with Maventh. _Mav? _she asked, concerned that her dragon would have a queen-like reaction to the other shining green. But Maventh merely riffled her wings and watched contentedly as Plenneth shot like an arrow into the sky. Arryn shaded her eyes with one hand, trying to pick out the dragons in pursuit. There was Devarith, his copper hide shining bright as a coin; and then a smaller, wiry bronze she didn't recognize, but found out to be Urliath, an older rider's dragon; then came Pertanth, winging along almost lazily. Arryn felt a prick of annoyance. Didn't K'lin realize that he was expected to become the next Weyrleader? Didn't he realize that his days of flirting with kitchen wenches and chasing after greens were over? She resolved to talk to him about it—they'd grown to be good friends, close friends even, after Maventh's rising had firmly put her out of his reach.

After Pertanth was a blue who looked small compared to the massive bronzes, but he was fast and he gamely winged after the shrieking green. There were two other blues, farther back, but they were tiring. Arryn squinted against the morning sun and realized that the first blue, the one tailing Pertanth, was Baerth. She gave a little laugh of happiness and could only imagine the scene out on one of the weyr's ledges. H'rath had quite a selection—the future Weyrleader as well as the only female blue-rider in Benden. Then she grimaced at the thought of what would happen if Pertanth caught Plenneth. She still wasn't used to the idea.

Maventh bugled encouragement to Plenneth, gleefully urging her fellow green on, telling her to taunt and tease and fly her would-be lovers into the ground. Arryn's attention was diverted for a moment as a group of dragons burst into the sky and announced themselves to Maventh; apparently there had been quite a feast at Telgar the other night. When she looked back to the skies, scanning the clouds for the distant wheeling figures of Plenneth and her pursuers, only two dragons were left in the chase, Pertanth and Baerth.

"Oh, shards, K'lin, give it up," she muttered angrily. Baerth faltered and Pertanth seemed to be gaining. Maventh called out to her sometime playmate, telling him not to give up. The blue responded, though Arryn was quite sure they were too far away to hear Maventh's call. She silently rooted the blue on—she'd seen the way H'rath looked at Lira, after that day at the lake. _Go, Baerth, go. _

An idea suddenly formed in her mind. It was crazy, but it just might work. She was sure she'd probably get in trouble, but it would be worth it, to see Baerth fly Plenneth. To make sure, she reached out and touched the green's mind, picking up on a little bit of the dialogue racing through the dragon's head. Most of it was just a slush of lust and anger, but now and again Arryn could catch coherent snatches. She smiled smugly. Plenneth, unlike Maventh, was _not_ impressed by the bronze chasing her. She shrieked angrily at him.

_Maventh, _said Arryn, _I might be about to do something very stupid. _

_ You do that sometimes. But I still love you, _replied Maventh, stretching on the fire-heights.

Arryn concentrated and reached out to Pertanth. _Hello_, she said. In reply she was bombarded with a wave of hunger and desire. She could feel K'lin, through Pertanth. She reached a little further, almost bypassing the bronze to get to his rider, who was hovering near H'rath. Lira, too, was there, her eyes dark with dragonlust.

_Hello, K'lin,_ she said cheerily. _Nice flight, eh? _

He drew back sharply, separating himself from the maelstrom of passion. _Get out of my dragon's head, _he snapped.

_Well, see the thing is, I'd love to, but I think it's high time you two stopped chasing greens,_ replied Arryn cheekily. Maventh rumbled in amusement.

_This isn't any of your business, _said K'lin tensely. He wanted to turn his attention back to the flight.

_It is when my best friend's involved, _Arryn said firmly. _And when the future weyrleader is making a fool of himself. _

_ It's perfectly natural for bronzes to go after greens! _protested K'lin angrily, sounding genuinely irritated.

_Yes, but not when the only queen in the weyr is due to rise soon, _reasoned Arryn. _Think about it, K'lin. Pertanth is just having fun. He really doesn't _need_ to fly Plenneth. And besides, I think Lira and H'rath would make a much cuter couple. _

She felt a twinge of amusement at her quip, and the mental equivalent of a sigh.

_I don't care if you don't like it, K'lin, _she pressed, _it's high time you took some responsibility. I think you'll be a great weyrleader, and I think Pertanth is just the bronze to get Narenth with a gold egg. _

He paused. He was actually thinking about it. Then he called out to Pertanth. The bronze bemusedly listened to his rider. Yes, he wanted the little green hovering so tantalizingly, just out of his reach, but when his rider suggested that he save his energy to fly Narenth….the bronze held back a fresh wave of lust at the thought of the great golden queen. Arryn tactfully withdrew and blinked as she came back to herself. She held up a hand against the sun and watched as Pertanth slowed, affecting exhaustion; and there were murmurs along the ledges as Baerth caught Plenneth, wrapping himself about her wings to still them. Arryn smiled.

_Don't be too pleased with yourself, _warned Maventh. _Baerth will not be very happy if he learns he did not win Plenneth by being the fastest. _

_ Sometimes it's not about 'winning,' or being the fastest, _replied Arryn, thinking dreamily of the moment that her dragon had _chosen_ Ereth. Maventh, too, caught the drift of her thought and butted her rider in the chest. Arryn laughed and rubbed the big green's eyeridge, very happy with herself and with the world.


	23. Chapter 23

**So I lied. Again. I said I might be done with the story, but apparently there is still much more to tell. I couldn't get this next event out of my mind and I finally decided to give myself some peace by writing it down. Thank you to everyone who gave me feedback about the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one...and if I do say so myself, it's a shocker! But hey, what's life without some excitement? In any case, I hope you like it, and if you do, please tell me so! Reviews make my day!!**

**Arwen, over and out!**

After watch, Arryn stopped by Lira's weyr for some well-earned prodding and teasing. Baerth was curled possessively about Plenneth out on the ledge. The green opened one eye lazily as Maventh landed.

_Hello, little one, _the sated dragon said, her voice heavy and almost sleepy with satisfaction.

_Have a good flight, did you? _grinned Arryn in reply. But Plenneth gave her no answer. Instead, she gazed intently at Maventh. Arryn felt the two greens conversing and tried politely to abstain from eavesdropping, but it was _her_ dragon. That wasn't eavesdropping, exactly.

_Why are you doing this?_ Plenneth asked Maventh, a tinge of some strange emotion coloring her thoughts. Arryn frowned and tried to place it—was it curiosity, or apprehension? She couldn't quite put a finger on it.

_Doing what? _Maventh seemed confused.

_You do not feel it?_ It was curiosity, Arryn decided as Plenneth patiently questioned the younger dragon.

_I feel…strange, I suppose, _Maventh replied, shifting uneasily. Maventh was not often nervous but she seemed unsettled by the older dragon's scrutiny. _But isn't this what is supposed to happen, after a rising? _

_Not after ours, _said Plenneth firmly.

_You are sure? _Maventh asked, a faint trace of hope in her voice—hope that maybe, perhaps, the older green was not _quite_ sure.

_I am sure. I have risen three times, and this my fourth. _Then Plenneth crooned reassuringly. _But do not be frightened, young one. _

Maventh riffled her wings, annoyed at the epithet. _I am not so young. And I am not frightened. _

_I know. Still, have faith. What is meant to be, will be. _Plenneth finished with a typically enigmatic statement, her voice reflecting the absolute calm and certainty that seemed to be a trait of all dragons. Baerth stirred and Plenneth settled her neck against him, clearly done with the conversation and ready to go back to sleep.

Arryn paused for a moment, puzzled by their conversation. Dragons will be dragons, she finally concluded, putting her confusion aside as she snuck up to the door, preparing for a surprise assault. To her chagrin, Lira opened the door.

"Baerth told me you were here," she said smugly. Arryn looked over her shoulder and saw H'rath seated at the little table, nursing a cup of _klah._ She waved cheerily to him. He smiled and rolled his eyes at her. "Besides," Lira continued, "I didn't disturb _you_ the morning after Ereth flew Maventh."

"True. We had to have a healer disrupt our morning after," grimaced Arryn.

"How is T'ran, by the way?" asked Lira, leaning against the doorframe.

"Allowed out and about, and happy as a wherry in a farmer's corn field," reported Arryn with a grin.

"Good. I would invite you in, but that would mean you'd be staying for more than five minutes," explained Lira seriously.

"It's good to see you don't forget your friends in all the madness," said Arryn drily. "Actually, I just wanted to congratulate you. Quite a catch. You make a cute couple."

Before Lira could reply, she was up on Maventh and with a wink at her former weyrmate, they were away, winging through the blue sky.

To Arryn's discomfort, they were still a good bit away from their ledge when a great golden dragon wheeled about in the sky and drew alongside them. Narenth winged along gracefully, her huge wings keeping her aloft with no effort as she bespoke the rider of her green daughter.

_Rider of Maventh, Linnara would have a word with you, _said the queen. There was an edge to her voice. Arryn frowned as she felt the golden dragon shut her out while she spoke to Maventh. With an effort she was able to catch the last phrase. _Be sure you do not reach higher than you can fly, little green. _

It sounded as though Narenth was _warning_ Maventh. Why…? Arryn shook her head, baffled. Was it because Maventh had chosen a strong young bronze as her mate soon before the queen was due to rise? She could feel the undercurrents in Narenth's mind that foretold her rising; the barely controlled hunger and desire were strong. But there was something else in Narenth's tone, a sort of jealousy that Arryn couldn't fathom. Then a ripple of shock rolled through her as Maventh replied.

_Be sure _you_ fly far and fast, so that you may beget another queen for Benden, _the green dragon said with an air of fierceness to her golden mother. In her surprise, Arryn let go of the conversation and blinked.

_Maventh! _she said mentally. _I can't believe you just said that! _

With one last disdainful look, Narenth folded her great wings and banked down toward her ledge, clearly expecting the green dragon to follow.

_I will not let her insult me just because she is a different color, _replied Maventh with a firm air of decisiveness. _And I was only speaking the truth. _

_It may be the truth, but sometimes using a little tact wouldn't hurt, _grumbled Arryn as Maventh landed and folded her wings primly, settling on the ledge of the queen's weyr with an air that suggested she had every right to be there. Arryn slid down her dragon's neck and glanced apprehensively at the door to the weyr. Every ounce of dislike and resentment she had ever felt for the Weyrwoman returned in full force, writhing in her stomach like a tangle of grubs. Nevertheless, she reminded herself of her duty as a rider. Her duty to the Weyrwoman. _Don't let me do anything stupid, Mav, _she told her dragon.

_When have I ever been able to stop you?_ Maventh replied in amusement.

With that, Arryn smiled and gathered her courage. She knocked on the door.

"Come in."

"Green-rider Arryn, reporting as requested," Arryn said formally. She wanted to gag at the sound of the woman's voice, and she wondered at herself. She hadn't thought herself capable of a loathing this intense, but she supposed that seeing Chirath and O'pir die, as well as almost losing the man she loved might have had something to do with it.

Linnara appeared, dressed in a deep blue tunic that made her golden hair seem all the brighter. She smiled, but her eyes were empty. Dead. "Please, dismiss the formality, Arryn. Come in."

"As you wish, Weyrwoman," replied Arryn stiffly. She wasn't ready to let down her shield of rigid courtesy. Stepping into the weyr, she wondered at its size and luxury.

"I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to come," Linnara continued.

"Yes, Weyrwoman."

"Stop calling me that." A flash of anger cracked Linnara's calm demeanor, but the fissure was instantly sealed behind a polite smile. "I apologize. It is simply hard for me to hear that title since the Weyrleader is no longer here to share it with me."

Arryn felt a stab of pity. She smothered it. This woman had caused the death of a rider and his dragon, and her actions had almost taken T'ran from her. She did not want to feel pity for her.

"Would you like a cup of _klah_?" asked Linnara. When Arryn shook her head, she continued blithely, "Perhaps some wine? Or just a glass of water?"

It went against every rule of decorum to refuse refreshment. She had been trapped by her own defense. Arryn clenched her teeth. "By your courtesy, I would have a glass of wine."

"There now, that wasn't so hard." Linnara smiled another of her cold smiles as she walked over to a table and poured two glasses of wine from a pitcher. "Come now and sit down while we talk."

Unwillingly, Arryn sat down across the table from the Weyrwoman. She gritted her teeth and gripped her glass of wine as another wave of anger broke over her. She could still hear Chirath's mournful, pained keens as he fell. She could still smell the acrid tang of ichor hanging in the air. "I beg your pardon, but have I done something wrong, Weyrwoman?"

Linnara flinched again at the title but did not correct Arryn again. "No, my dear, you've done nothing wrong. I've been meaning to meet with you for a while now. You see, when Plenneth brought you in after you were Searched, she told me you were special."

Arryn bridled at the condescenscion in the older woman's voice, but with difficulty she managed to swallow the curt reply on the tip of her tongue. Instead she said smoothly, "Yes. It is true I possess an unusual ability."

"You can hear all the dragons," said Linnara, leaning forward, her blue eyes like chips of glittering ice. "Like Lessa."

"Not all the time," replied Arryn. "It's an ability I choose not to use most of the time. I am perfectly content with hearing my own dragon."

"Maventh, isn't it?" asked Linnara. "The big green."

"Yes."

"She rose recently, did she not?"

"Yes," Arryn said again, feeling herself edge closer to losing control every time the Weyrwoman gave her one of those sweet, mother-like smiles.

The Weyrwoman was silent for a long moment, studying Arryn. "I thought you would make an excellent gold-rider," she said finally. "It's a shame you did not wait until the next Hatching, or even go to the Southern Weyrs. They had two queen eggs on the sands at the same time as your green's clutch."

"Maventh is all I could ever ask for," replied Arryn in a barely civil tone. She clenched her hands in her lap to still their trembling.

"I've made you angry," said Linnara. "Such spirit. It's a pity you didn't Impress a bronze. It would have been interesting."

"Is there any true reason that you needed to speak with me, or do you simply delight in insulting riders of lesser rank than yourself?" snapped Arryn, eyes blazing in fury.

Linnara paused and looked at the younger woman more closely. "I hope you do not see what I have said as an insult," she said coolly, unaffected by Arryn's outburst. "I was merely speculating."

"Speculations can sometimes be rude," replied Arryn with the same coolness, reigning in her temper. "Especially when they have to do with a rider's dragon."

"Ah, yes, your green. She is quite spirited as well, if I am not mistaken. And strong, and fast…did I hear correctly when someone told me it was bronze Ereth that flew her?"

"That is correct."

"Admirable, for a green to keep such speed for such a time. It was almost as if…" Linnara paused, her eyes glittering. "It was almost as if she were a queen. If I had not known her color, I would have sworn she was a young queen on her first flight."

Arryn let out a snort of laughter. She couldn't help it. "Be that as it may, Weyrwoman, Maventh is still a green. She is large for her color, yes, and she is fast," she continued, her voice warming as she spoke of her dragon, "but she is still simply a green."

"Simply a green," murmured Linnara. The cold light left her eyes and she looked tired and worn. Arryn blinked and realized that the Weyrwoman was almost acting as if she were mad. Had her sense left her when M'ran died?

"K'lin speaks of you often," the queen-rider continued. "He says that you were the one who warned him of my actions on the day Chirath died."

Anger blossomed in Arryn's belly, warm and hot, wrapping about her spine like a trellis-flower. "How dare you speak of Chirath." The words were out, low and threatening, almost a growl, before she could think. She was beyond thinking.

"K'lin says that you blame me for their death." The Weyrwoman gave a little laugh that chilled Arryn.

"I do. If not for you, then we would not have been forced to fly sweep above the Queen's Wing."

"You are a bold little green-rider," the Weyrwoman said in delight. "No-one has spoken to me with such anger since M'ran died!" Her breath caught in a half-sob at the name of her dead weyrmate. "That is well, though, because it is my fault."

Arryn sat back, stunned. She hadn't expected the Weyrwoman to accept responsibility. She hadn't expected the woman to feel guilt; in her own mind, she'd molded the woman into an unfeeling monster.

"You didn't expect me to admit it," continued Linnara. "But I know. I realized it. I was simply beyond…beyond all thought and reason that day."

"That doesn't excuse your actions," said Arryn mercilessly.

"Your T'ran saved my life. And Narenth's. He saved Benden's only queen." Bitterness twisted Linnara's mouth. "You may wonder why I am telling you this. You're just a green-rider. But you might understand, even though you are here against your will."

Arryn didn't reply.

"Well," continued Linnara. "I _am_ going to tell you." She paused and her eyes went unfocused. "I _am _going to tell her, love. _Someone_ needs to know. _Someone_ needs to understand." She broke off her conversation with her dragon and turned back to the young rider across from her. The girl was so young, so…full of life, the Weyrwoman thought. Not so much older, but so…different. "What I am going to tell you may shock you. But then again, it may not." She smiled again and Arryn ground her teeth. "Narenth will rise soon. I've persuaded her to accept another bronze. Just once. After the eggs have hatched, after Benden has another young queen, then we will go _between._"

"But what I'm going to ask of you is this. It is not a simple matter. I do not know whether we can last that long." The Weyrwoman gave a sigh. "If my Narenth goes _between_ before the eggs hatch, I ask that you and your Maventh look after them."

"_What?"_

"Maventh is the largest of the greens," said Linnara. "Once upon a time I would have wished for her to be the same as all the rest, to spare you heartache. Now I am glad that she is different, as she will be able to release me from mine."

"That's craziness," said Arryn. "What of your duty, your responsibility to the weyr? Don't you see that you owe us more than just a shell? Don't you see that this weyr needs a leader?"

"I can't be a leader," said Linnara softly. "Not after he's gone. I'm not strong enough." The Weyrwoman looked up at Arryn. "But you are."

For the second time in as many minutes, Arryn was struck speechless. "I don't understand," she said finally.

"I'm appointing you as my successor," said Linnara calmly.

"You can't—_what?_ I'm a _green_-rider!" cried Arryn. "That's impossible!"

"Look at your dragon and tell me that is impossible," replied Linnara. "In a few weeks you will understand. Maybe even sooner."

"I'm telling K'lin," Arryn said fiercely. "You realize Chirath and O'pir gave their lives trying to protect you, don't you? Ereth and T'ran would have died for you too. And now you're simply going to throw that away?"

"Yes," Linnara replied simply.

Arryn made a noise of disgust and stood up. "I apologize, Weyrwoman, but I cannot take part in this _conversation_ any more."

"Very well. I have told you what you needed to hear." Linnara smiled chillingly. "Now run along like a good little green-rider and tell all your friends about the mad weyrwoman."

Arryn shook her head and strode out of the queen-rider's weyr. She paused at the door. "I realize you've endured a great loss," she said carefully, "but just because M'ran is gone does not mean there is no-one here who cares for you. Please think about that."

Linnara's attempt at a smile twisted. "And please think about what I have said. I meant no insult, truly. You will make a fine weyrwoman."

Arryn shook her head again and left, her brow creased with worry and thought. The atmosphere out on the ledge was no different. Narenth reared up to her full height as Arryn exited her rider's weyr. Maventh whisked a protective wing about Arryn, cocooning her in bright, sun-struck green.

_Maventh, don't be stupid, _she chided her dragon, batting at the wing enveloping her.

Maventh didn't reply. She rumbled deep in her chest—was she _growling_ at the queen?

_Stop it, _Arryn reprimanded fiercely. Grudgingly, Maventh released her rider from her wing and let her climb up onto her neck. _Let's go,_ Arryn said curtly. This day was spiraling out of control, and she didn't like it. Maventh leapt from the ledge and spread her wings, the eyes of the golden dragon following them until they were lost from sight beyond the rim of the Weyrbowl.

_What was all that about? _Arryn demanded as Maventh landed on their ledge. She slid down and began unstrapping the riding gear.

_Narenth does not like me,_ replied Maventh simply.

Arryn sighed in frustration. _Why? Because you're a cheeky little green who doesn't know how to control herself? _

Maventh swung her head around and looked at her rider reproachfully. _I am sorry if I upset you. _

_You did. Do you know what you _sounded_ like? _Arryn asked in exasperation. _You could very well have gotten us transferred to another weyr! That's what happens to riders whose dragons can't get along with others! _

_I get along fine with others, _Maventh replied. _I just do not like it when another insults my rider. _

_Oh, don't worry about me, _snapped Arryn, cheeks flushing. _I'm sure I can get along quite well without you defending me. _

_But I love you, and I will not hear others speak ill of you_, said Maventh with an air of finality. _Even if it is the queen. _

"She's your mother," muttered Arryn. "You should at least respect her for _that_."

_I do respect Narenth, _replied Maventh with her unshakable calm.

"Whatever you say," said Arryn. She'd had enough of draconic enigmas for one day. With a sigh she went into the weyr and pulled off her boots.

"So I hear Baerth caught Plenneth," said T'ran from across the room. He'd just been to the baths; his dark hair clung to his forehead and moisture still clung to the curves of his bare torso. Arryn smiled.

"Yes," she said. "He did."

"You look tense," he said, his grey eyes concerned. "Did something happen?"

Arryn hesitated. Should she tell him about her odd conversation with Linnara, and the strange, jealous behavior of the queen? A part of her said no, that she should keep it to herself, but she had grown used to sharing everything with T'ran. She trusted him. "Yes and no," she said haltingly.

He grabbed a shirt and pulled it on, making his way to another chair. "You can tell me."

"Well…" She took a breath. "I dropped by to congratulate Lira after watch. On the way back, Narenth bespoke me and told me Linnara requested my presence." She grimaced.

"I'm sure you were overjoyed," said T'ran.

She shot him a glare. "Do you want to hear what happened or not?"

T'ran grinned at her and inclined his head. "Of course. Continue, my lady."

She couldn't help but smile. "Anyway, Linnara is completely…out of her mind." She shook her head.

T'ran frowned. "What did she have to say?" he pressed.

"She told me that after this flight, after Narenth lays a gold egg, they are going to go _between_," Arryn said softly. "And she asked me and Maventh to look after the eggs."

"She didn't," T'ran said in shock.

"She did."

"Shards." T'ran ran one hand through his dark hair.

"That's not all." He looked at her incredulously. She caught his eyes with her own as she continued. "She wants me to be Weyrwoman."

"_What?"_

"I know." Arryn smiled grimly. "That's what I said."

"But that's impossible! You're—no offense, love, but you're a green-rider!"

"I know. I said that too. She was utterly convinced, though. Told me I should have Impressed gold anyway. Or bronze." Her mouth twisted wryly as she thought of the bronze dragonet that had nearly become her lifemate on the hot sands so long ago.

"Shards," T'ran said again. "But…you know, if you're Weyrwoman…"

"That would make you, my dear, the Weyrleader."

T'ran paled visibly. "You're not serious."

"I'm not, but Linnara is. She was very set on it. I told you, I tried to dissuade her, but she wouldn't budge. I think she's gone a bit loopers since M'ran died."

"I'll say," replied T'ran. Then he stood. "Come on. We've got to go talk about this with the others."

"I'll tell K'lin," said Arryn. "But no-one other than Sh'len and Lira and you and K'lin can know about this." She gave him a hard look to let him know that she was serious.

"Of course," he replied, still looking shaken. Shards, not much could faze him, not even being smothered between two dragons in the middle of a Fall, but she could see that the prospect of being thrust into leadership scared him. Strangely enough, it didn't frighten her at all.

"Let's go," she said.

The remainder of the day was spent in intense private conferences with K'lin, Lira and Sh'len. K'lin had protested her telling the other riders at first, but she had firmly said that they were her best friends and utterly trustworthy.

"Of all the beastly things to say," Lira said in disgust at the part about Linnara speculating what type of gold-rider Arryn would have been. "You just don't _say_ that."

"I know. But there's more," Arryn replied. As she expected, they all reacted with shock, initially; but then, to her surprise, Lira said that she _would_ make a fine Weyrwoman.

"But Lira, I'm a green-rider," said Arryn in confusion.

"So? I'm a woman who rides a blue," replied Lira with a shrug. "There's got to be a first for everything."

"Yes, but…" Arryn paused and frowned, reaching out to Maventh. She'd been feeling a bit odd, these past few days, and Arryn felt it too, as her dragon winged down toward the hunting grounds. Heavy. Ungainly. Maybe the green was growing again, she thought in chagrin. Lira was saying something. She turned her attention back to the conversation at hand.

"…have to set precedents. Look at Ruth. He was a white dragon, but he was just as normal as anyone else, when it all came down to it. I'm pretty sure Lord Jaxom was the first Lord Holder to be a dragonrider as well. And Mirrim, with her green Path. People thought she was crazy, or Path was addled, but they were as good a fighting pair as any," Lira finished firmly. "And me and Baerth, too."

"That's true," agreed Sh'len, "but I think we should be focusing on the Weyrwoman's intentions to commit suicide."

K'lin sighed heavily. "I'm wondering whether there's anything we can do to stop her."

"Well, we can't just sit here, not when we've been warned about her plans," said Arryn. The other four riders looked at her silently. "We've got to do _something_."

"Sometimes a rider is broken and there's nothing anyone can do to fix them," said K'lin quietly, his face unusually somber. " I remember my wingleader, weyrling year. His weyrmate was killed in the second Fall I flew in. Y'sen couldn't take it. He took his brown Voreth _between_ a month after. We all thought he was fine, until the day he died." He shook his head. "Perhaps it's best Linnara told you. At least she's prepared us."

"But not the weyr," pointed out Sh'len.

"Actually," cut in Lira, "there's been a lot of talk, lately. Pertanth wasn't the only dragon who heard Weliath's story."

"But it doesn't make sense," protested Arryn. She was feeling small and helpless, the victim of a plan already put into motion—one she didn't approve of, but seemed as though it was about to happen anyway. "We're just going to let the only queen kill herself? What kind of riders does that make us?"

The room was silent for a moment. Then K'lin shook his head. "I don't know."

"I don't know either," said Arryn. "I don't know why trouble always finds me. It's not as though I'm anything special," she continued defensively. "Apart from the fact that Maventh is a 'sharding big green.'" There was an angry bite to her voice.

"Just calm down," advised Sh'len. "Don't worry. Perhaps Linnara's threat is an empty one. We'll have to find out."

"I'm going to go alert all the wingleaders and wingseconds," decided K'lin. Arryn shot him a look of panic. "Not about what Linnara said concerning you. About her plans to go _between_ after Narenth's next rising."

Arryn nodded. "All right. So we're just waiting. Is that it, then?"

"I suppose so," concluded T'ran. K'lin rose and left the four of them staring unhappily at each other.

"We've not even been full riders for an entire Turn yet," groaned Arryn. "How do we keep getting involved in the biggest problems in the weyr?"

"Dunno," said Sh'len with a smile. "I guess we're just so charismatic."

"I think it's my breathtaking good looks," contributed Lira, flipping her braid over one shoulder with a flourish.

"Or my irresistible charm," added T'ran with an uncharacteristic flash of dry humor. He made his way over to Arryn's chair and gave her what he clearly thought was a look of pure seduction.

"You look like you've got a bad case of gas," Arryn commented dryly, raising one eyebrow. Lira collapsed in giggles. T'ran looked crushed.

"I guess I'll have to practice that," he said, and then kissed her full on the mouth.

Sh'len made a gagging noise and Lira threw her hand across her face with a cry of, "My eyes! My eyes! They're being burned out by a disgusting display of—" She was cut off as Arryn gave her a well-aimed poke. "Ouch."

Her spirits somewhat restored, Arryn grinned at T'ran and winked at Lira, who rolled her eyes. "Anyone up for some dinner?" she asked. "I'm absolutely starved."

"Yes, I'm sure being told you're the next Weyrwoman of Benden can cause you to work up quite an appetite," said Lira as they all stood and made their way down to the kitchens. She dodged Arryn's poke this time and stuck out her tongue. Arryn laughed and felt a sense of relief. For just being told she was to be the next weyrwoman by a rather insane gold-rider, she felt very, very normal.


	24. Chapter 24

**Eh, not much to say anymore, I'm reeeeally trying to get this done before I leave for Japan tomorrow, but I don't think it's going to happen, so please bear with me if I leave you hanging! I promise that as soon as I have computer access again I'll update if I don't get it finished. Annnnyway, hope you enjoy, like always...and please review? Please? C'mon now, I know you cannon nazis out there want to rip into the fact that a green-rider is going to be weyrwoman...and you must have lots of questions about what's happening...hit me up! Okay, I realize that was a little undignified. Pleading for reviews. Hah. I'm done now. Oh wait no I'm not. Thanks to those who have pointed out the incongruities in my story...after it's done I'm going to go back and fix all of it so it's nice and sparkly and clean.**

**Arwen, over and out!**

The weyr was buzzing. Whispers floated about in the darkest corners, where riders who thought they could not be seen talked about the latest development in the activities of their leadership.

"They say Linnara's gone mad," whispered R'sen to a brown-rider by the name of E'kan.

"Who says?" demanded E'kan.

R'sen shook his head. "Everyone. There's been a whirl about it since the day that the Weyrwoman…_you know…_" He drew his finger across his throat. "Tried."

E'kan shook his head as well. "It doesn't sit right with me. Sounds wrong."

"It _is_ wrong, for a queen to leave her weyr," contributed a small blue-rider from across the table. He pounded his fist down on the wood. "Irresponsible woman."

"Shhh!" hissed R'sen hastily, holding up a hand. "Don't say that out loud!"

"Aye, it's best to keep such suspicions to yourself," agreed E'kan with a meaningful glance at the young green-rider.

"It's _true_," R'sen insisted.

"What's true?" asked Arryn as she set down her tray and made scooching motions with her hands. The riders obligingly made a space for her on the bench.

"That the weyrwoman's gone mad," R'sen said.

Arryn raised her eyebrows, careful to keep her face composed and calm. "Is that so? The weyrwoman's crazy, is she?"

"That's what Rilith heard," affirmed R'sen.

"Who'd she hear it from?" questioned Arryn carefully, mixing her stew about with her spoon.

"Weliath, she says," replied R'sen after a moment.

"Hm. That's a very interesting statement in any case," said Arryn, tasting a spoonful. "Stew's pretty good tonight."

"Erm. Yes, it is." R'sen looked suddenly abashed, as though he was a child caught with his hand in the sweets jar.

"So are they taking bets on who's to fly Narenth?" asked Arryn casually.

E'kan shrugged. "Not as much as they did with you."

Arryn grinned as the brown-rider elbowed her in the ribs. She was used to such teasing. It made her feel at home. "Come now, E'kan, the pool wasn't _that_ big for Maventh. Unless you made a pretty penny off it." She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

E'kan gave a guffaw and clapped the green-rider on the back. "Nah, gel, I bet on V'remnar's Devarith."

"Well, that's nice to know," commented Arryn drolly. The other riders grinned.

"Hear the queen's going to rise soon," R'sen tried again.

"_Everyone_ knows the queen is going to rise soon," said E'kan in a bored tone. R'sen made a face and subsided into silence. "And everyone knows that K'lin's Pertanth is going to fly her," finished E'kan.

_If she doesn't go _between_ first, _Arryn finished grimly in her head. Her secret weighed heavily on her, and the fact that something wasn't quite right with Maventh compounded her worries. The green had taken to sleeping a lot, and when Arryn asked her what was wrong she merely shrugged off her rider's concerns, insisting that she was fine. But Arryn knew she felt _heavy._ What was that supposed to mean? Was there some sickness that was causing her dragon to gain weight, or, Faranth help her, some strange growth expanding inside her? She didn't want to contemplate the horrible possibilities.

On the brighter side, Linnara seemed to have regained some sense of her responsibility to the weyr. She'd even been present at the last meeting of the wingleaders and wingseconds, according to K'lin, though he said that she didn't say much and just sat silently, listening. He'd assigned a few greens and blues to watch the queen regularly, but in such a manner that she didn't notice. That was a hard thing to manage, but apparently the golden dragon suspected nothing. In Arryn's opinion, Narenth was bluffing magnificently, but she wasn't about to stir up any more trouble by suggesting this notion to K'lin. Things had settled down a bit in the four days since Linnara had told her she was to be the next weyrwoman.

As foreign as the idea was to Arryn, she had gotten used to it—out of necessity, she supposed. T'ran didn't talk about it much, but he made it clear that if she wanted to speak of it, he would listen. However, he did seem unusually protective of her—not that he hadn't been so before, but she could sense him watching her, and asking Ereth to keep tabs on her when she and Maventh went out for long, leisurely flights. It was almost annoying, but not quite.

It was the fifth morning when the bronzes started to hum. Maventh raised her head and looked toward the Weyrbowl.

_Maventh?_ Arryn approached her dragon cautiously. _Do you know what's happening? _

The hum was deep, vibrating. She could feel it in her bones. Come to think of it, it was familiar. They had hummed when Maventh rose.

_Narenth is rising, silly_, replied Maventh.

_Are you…all right? _asked Arryn carefully.

_I'm fine. Why would I not be fine? _said Maventh curiously. _Come on. I want to see better. Let's fly to the fire-heights. _

_ All right. _Arryn slid up onto Maventh's bare neck. She reveled in the freedom of riding without gear, even if T'ran had told her that it was dangerous and he'd prefer if she didn't, thank you very much. _But…if you feel strange, love, just tell me, all right? _

_ I already told you that I am fine. Why is everyone so nervous around me? _Maventh huffed as she took off. Arryn yelped in surprise as her dragon dipped low before pulling up, her wing-strokes more labored than usual. _Sorry,_ the green dragon apologized.

_Since when have you had trouble getting airborne? _asked Arryn suspiciously. A thought was niggling in the back of her mind. She couldn't quite grasp it; the wind was whistling in her ears. Maventh landed on the fire-heights, trumpeting a welcome to the watch-dragon, blue Anath.

Narenth's shriek rebounded off the walls of the weyr. The great dragon was glowing golden, her body too bright to look at for long, like a prism of sunlight. There was more anger than usual in that shriek, Arryn thought as the dragon's strident call echoed again through the stone heights. The queen's huge wedge-shaped head was swinging back and forth as she reared up on her ledge—she looked almost like she was scenting the air for something. She bellowed in fury and the bronzes' hum faltered. Something was wrong. Arryn tuned into the cacophony of dragon voices and caught a thread. She walked along the edge of the wall, squinting as she tried to separate the voices.

_Insolent little green who thinks to rob me of my mates…_

The fury in Narenth's voice was unmistakable. So was the primitive urge to kill. Arryn's eyes widened. The golden dragon launched herself from her ledge—but not toward the feeding grounds.

She was coming for Maventh.

Arryn spun on her heel and lunged toward her dragon, pelting headlong across the perilous fire-height paths. She leapt onto Maventh's neck. _GO, Maventh! We have to get out of here! _

But Maventh was not listening to her. Her whole attention was focused on the golden dragon winging toward them furiously, her body tensing, muscles bunching. Bloodlust eminated in waves from the queen—and from the green dragon on the fire-heights. The bronzes' hum had a worried undertone to it now.

"Maventh!" screamed Arryn. "Don't do this! _Listen_ to me! _We have to leave!" _

The green dragon seemed mesmerized. Arryn thought quickly. She hated to do it, but maybe it would snap Maventh out of her trance of bloodlust. Thinking hard, she visualized a picture of herself, broken and bleeding, trying to put as much gory detail into the image as possible, and then she slapped it into Maventh's mind. The effect was like salt upon a wound: the green dragon shrieked, but this time in fear as she realized the danger to her rider. Arryn held on grimly as Maventh lurched from the fireheights into the air. She visualized Ruatha, and they slid _between_, Narenth's furious bellow echoing in their ears.

"What the hell, Mav?" Arryn gasped as they landed in that familiar field. She shakily slid her leg over Maventh's neck and landed on her knees in the long grass as her legs gave out. Shards, that had frightened her more than anything.

_I am sorry,_ said Maventh. She sounded shaken as well. _I thought I would be fine. I was fine when Plenneth rose. _

"It's all right," said Arryn, reaching up a hand to stroke her dragon's nose. "We're both fine." She frowned. "You're trembling." The muscles in Maventh's hindquarters were indeed spasming.

_You frightened me, _said Maventh in a small voice. _With that picture. _ A shudder shook her from nose to tail.

"I'm sorry, love," murmured Arryn, truly regretful. "But I had to snap you out of it _somehow." _

_ Well, that did the trick, _replied Maventh.

"I'm here, and I'm whole." Arryn wrapped her arms about her dragon's neck in reassurance. "Don't worry."

After a moment Maventh stopped trembling. _I'm better now, _the green said, tail twitching restlessly. Arryn smiled and released her. _Can I go swimming in the lake? _

_ Of course you can, if you want to, _replied Arryn. _Just don't scare any farmers too badly, all right? _

_ I shall try not to, _said Maventh, but her tail was still twitching mischieviously as she took off. Arryn followed at a more leisurely pace.

The sun was quite nice on the bank of the lake. Maventh dove about happily while Arryn let the warmth soak into her skin. _Mav, I think I understand why you like sunning so much,_ she commented lazily, the trepidations of the morning melting away beneath the sun's gentle rays. Maventh executed some rather difficult maneuvers underwater, barrel-rolling and somersaulting through the clear crystal depths. Arryn clambered up onto a rock and watched in amusement. It was pleasant to have the lake to themselves. No-one worrying her with forecasts of doom, no-one trying to tell her to be something she wasn't.

_Wonder how the flight went, _she said. It couldn't have been more than half an hour since they'd left Benden. Sometimes queens took an hour just to ready themselves, blooding their kills and tantalizing the bronzes. Maventh paused in her underwater acrobatics.

_Narenth has just taken off, _she informed Arryn, knowing perfectly well that her rider could have found that out for herself, but feeling important and all-knowing anyway. The green dragon gathered some speed and shot up out of the water, ignoring Arryn's protests at being splashed. She wallowed her way over to the bank and spread her wings in the sun. Arryn walked over and lay down by her basking dragon, ensconcing herself between a foreleg and a wing.

_Stop wriggling_, complained Maventh as her rider got comfortable. Arryn giggled, then sobered.

_Why do you think Narenth was going to attack you, Mav? _she asked.

_Because I am different than the other greens, and Narenth knows it,_ replied her dragon indifferently.

_Hm. How are you different, I wonder? _speculated Arryn.

_I simply am. I do not know how to explain it._ Maventh huffed air at Arryn, clearly irritated that the conversation was interrupting her sunbathing. Arryn giggled again and wriggled closer. Maventh let out a sound of irritation.

_You just sounded like a frustrated wherry, _said Arryn, shaking with laughter. Maventh cocked her head and made the sound again, listening to herself. She then proceeded to see what other kinds of noises she was capable of producing.

_That one sounded like a pinched herdbeast. _Arryn gasped for breath, clutching at her sides. She didn't remember having this much fun since they were weyrlings. Then, all of a sudden, Maventh lunged up, sending her tumbling through the grass. "Mav, what—" And then it hit her. A wave of pain and loss, just like when M'ran had died. Only this time it was tinged with unrequited hunger, unfulfilled lust. She clapped her hands over her ears as Maventh keened.

_Ereth! _ she called out. It was hard, bespeaking him from this far away, but she found him.

_Narenth is no more, _the bronze informed her sorrowfully.

_What happened? _she asked, trying to calm Maventh enough to get up onto her neck.

_The queen did not want any of the bronzes. Her rider tried to convince her, but she refused. Then Pertanth caught her, and instead of accepting him, Narenth went _between

_What about Linnara? What about the queen's rider?_ She finally succeeded in jumping up onto Maventh's neck.

_I do not know, _Ereth concluded sadly. _T'ran is very worried about you. _

_ Tell him we're fine,and we're on our way back, _said Arryn. "Ready, love? Let's go home."


	25. Chapter 25

Maventh's take-off was even worse than before. She lurched and dipped like an ungainly weyrling before righting herself enough to gain altitude. Arryn gave her the image of Benden, and then they were enveloped in the icy cold of _between_. The cold leeched the warmth she had gleaned from the sun away, leaving her teeth chattering as they burst into the air above the weyr.

_Maventh! It is Maventh!_ called the green dragon to blue Anath.

Tears sprang up behind Arryn's eyes. She had never before heard the dragons lament like this, not even when the young dragons had been lost _between._ It was as if they were mourning not only the loss of their queen, but also the hundreds of hatchlings, the unborn that had died with their golden mother, their lives unrealized, unfulfilled.

As soon as Maventh landed she was in T'ran's arms. He held her close as she sobbed, letting the dragons' emotions wash over her. The unfulfilled bronzes were spreading their wings up on the fire-heights, their keens sharp with agony at the loss of their golden idol. Ereth and Maventh mourned together on the ledge, their eyes whirling with sadness.

Arryn let T'ran hold her when she was finished crying, feeling his firm arms and broad chest encircled about her, settling into a sense of security and strength. "I didn't want her to die," she snuffled into his shirt.

"I know you didn't," soothed T'ran, stroking her hair. "I know. None of us wanted this to happen."

She raised a tear-streaked face. "Linnara?"

T'ran shook his head. "I don't know."

Arryn swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffling again and offering a watery smile. "I'm sorry. Sometimes it gets away from me."

T'ran smiled, his thumb stroking her cheek, drying her tears. "It's all right."

Hint popped into existence above T'ran's head, whizzing in circles and screeching. Then he noticed Arryn's drying tears and creeled in concern, dropping onto her shoulder. The little bronze wrapped his tail about her neck and rubbed his head against her cheek, his skin warm and dry. Arryn stroked his back and he burbled in pleasure.

"Told you he liked Maventh." T'ran's smile was strained.

Arryn glanced toward the ledge, her green eyes rippling with thought. "T'ran, something's…not right with Maventh."

"What do you mean?" he asked in concern.

"She's been having trouble flying lately, and she's gained some weight, I think. Narenth tried to attack her, before she blooded," she added, almost as an afterthought, her brow creased in worry.

"I'm sure it's nothing to fret over," said T'ran reassuringly. He folded her in his arms again and kissed the top of her head. "Let's get some _klah_."

She nodded. "All right."

Hand in hand, they headed toward the kitchens.

The rest of the day was horrible. A sense of sorrow and tragedy hung heavily over the weyr and pressed down upon every rider as they attempted to continue with their daily activities. At first, most riders looked dazed, shocked by the events of the morning, too numb to feel sorrow; and then, as reality set in—Benden Weyr had no queen, no Weyrleader, no Weyrwoman—looks turned from shock to sorrow to…confusion. Puzzlement. What were they to do? How was a weyr to function without its figureheads?

Arryn wasted no time in finding out Linnara's fate. The Weyrwoman had clearly prepared for the unfortunate turn of events that had left her dragonless, bereft and sorrow-torn in a lonely weyr.

"Poison," said Paela sadly when Arryn questioned her. "It's really not painful. They say it's as though you're going to sleep."

"Only forever," said Arryn grimly. An image sprang up unbidden in her mind, of Linnara watching her beloved dragon choose death rather than accept a new lover, and the horrible emptiness that must have turned her mind. "Did she go mad, when Narenth died?"

"Probably, if she wasn't already," admitted Paela.

They were sitting on Paela's bed, down in the healer's quarters.

"How are the bronze-riders doing?" asked Arryn softly.

"The one who took the worst of it was K'lin," replied Paela. "Pertanth tried to hold Narenth back. He went with her into _between_ and tried to bring her back. But he couldn't do it."

"No-one could have done that," said Arryn, thinking of the agony K'lin must have experienced, thinking his bronze lost with his would-be mate. "Where is he?"

"Who? K'lin, or his dragon?"

"K'lin."

"He's in the sick hall. They're not letting anyone see him," warned Paela.

"They'll let me see him," said Arryn grimly. She stood, and then paused. "Oh…did they…find anything, with the Weyrwoman when she died?"

Paela looked at her sharply. "They found a short note. A suicide note, I suppose."

"What did it say?"

"I…don't know," Paela replied slowly. "I think K'lin has it. He was the first there."

"Shards," muttered Arryn. "I need to go see how he is." She made her way to the door, and then stopped again. "Paela…what do you know about how dragons lay eggs? I mean, how does it work, really?"

Paela looked momentarily baffled; then she recovered herself. "Well, I've only really seen Narenth with clutch. There's really not much knowledge about the internal process, although it is known that the queen gains a large amount of weight due to the formation of the eggs inside her. After a short period of time—it depends with every queen, they're all different—she goes to the Hatching Grounds, and clutches." The healer shrugged, then narrowed her eyes. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Ah…a friend of mine has a fire-lizard queen and he's too embarrassed to ask," lied Arryn quickly. She flushed as she quickly exited, feeling foolish and exhilarated and very, very scared. How had she not known? How had she not put together the signs…Maventh sleeping all the time…and having trouble gaining altitude—the weight! She shook her head at herself. "You stupid wherry-headed rider," she muttered. Then she started to grin, and she couldn't stop herself. It was all bubbling up inside her. She started to run toward the sick hall.

A few people gave her strange looks as she hastily made her way toward the infirmary, and Arryn realized that she must look a sight, grinning like an idiot mere hours after the queen's death. With an effort, she controlled her emotions and pasted a blank look on her face that she hoped would pass for sorrow.

There was a healer standing outside the sick hall. He held up a hand as she approached. Arryn recognized Ulin and groaned internally.

"Please state your business, green-rider," he said, eyeing her shoulder-knots.

"I am here to see K'lin, rider of bronze Pertanth," she replied with as much icy dignity as she could muster. It was quite difficult, forcing herself to stand still when she wanted to run and skip and laugh like a fool.

"He is in no shape to accept visitors," replied Ulin stuffily, looking up his nose at her. Arryn resisted the urge to squash the healer's face into the door.

"This is urgent business," she said coolly. "I am sure that it would be in your best interest to let me pass, sir."

Ulin blinked in confusion at her imperious demeanor. She stared at him frostily, her green eyes cold as winter stars. He grudgingly stepped aside. "Ten minutes. No more. And do not upset him," he warned as the green-rider swept past him. He shut the door behind her and resumed his watch, folding his arms grumpily.

Arryn fairly ran across the room, to the only bed that held an occupant. "K'lin!"

The bronze-rider was alarmingly pale—almost as pale as T'ran had been when Parrin hauled him out of the lake, Arryn thought. But then he opened his eyes and smiled wanly at Arryn. "Hello. Nice to have a visitor."

"How are you?" she asked in concern, pulling up a stool to the side of the bed. K'lin propped himself up on his elbows and then sat up against the headboard of the bed.

"Better, now that I know you're fine," he said. He rubbed his eyes. "I know that Narenth tried to attack Maventh." He gave her a keen look. "Do you know why?"

"In a moment." She brushed off his question. "How is Pertanth?"

K'lin sighed. "He's sleeping, I think. The idiot went after Narenth and tried to bring her back. He pulled that stunt that worked when M'ran almost died—you know, when Narenth wrapped herself around Orinth and stopped him from going _between_." He shook his head, mouth thinned in a grim line. "Only this time it didn't work and Narenth dragged him with her." A terrible sadness surfaced in his eyes. "I thought I'd lost him."

Arryn covered his cold hand with her own, squeezing his fingers. "It must have been horrible. And then you went to the queen's weyr?"

"We were right outside anyway, the bronze-riders and Linnara," said K'lin. "The others were still in shock and when I thought I'd lost Pertanth…Linnara had disappeared into her weyr and I went after her."

"And you found her," finished Arryn softly. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Not as sorry as I would have been if she hadn't already taken the poison. I think—I think I was going to kill her, if Pertanth was gone. But he came back and she was already dead."

What could you say to that? Arryn wondered. She didn't know, so she sat silently. K'lin took a breath and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He looked so tired and sad. She wanted dearly to cheer him up.

"Did the note say anything about….about me?" She felt horribly selfish, asking him that.

"It said everything about you," replied K'lin. He raised his head and looked at her. "It detailed Linnara's wishes that you would follow her as Weyrwoman. And it also said something else."

"It said that Maventh would clutch," whispered Arryn, feeling that bloom of hope and joy spread again in her chest when she thought of Maventh—her Maventh—laying eggs, having little hatchling dragons. Was this what it felt like to be a mother?

"So it's true." K'lin's eyes were boring into her and his hand was gripping her fingers so hard she thought they would snap. "Faranth help us, it's true."

"Yes." She nodded. "I didn't realize…I was so stupid, K'lin, but I realized just now, just as I was coming to see you." A stupid grin spread across her face and an answering smile slowly formed on K'lin's lips. He pushed himself farther up and then threw the sheet off, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Hand me my boots like a good little green-rider, will you?" he said with a flash of his old humor.

"You're not supposed to be out of bed," protested Arryn.

"And your dragon is not supposed to be laying eggs," countered K'lin. He grinned again, fully this time. "But I'm sharding glad she is."

With a shake of her head Arryn found his boots and he pulled them on. "You're going to have to sneak past Ulin."

"You can distract him," said K'lin, his eyes glimmering wickedly.

"How?" asked Arryn, arms akimbo.

"I don't know, throw a rock or something," mimicked K'lin.

"I can't believe P'tar told you that story!" exclaimed Arryn, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her laughter at the surprise assault.

"Oh, I hear everything that goes on around hear, you know," replied K'lin solemnly, standing and trying to brush the wrinkles out of his tunic. "High and mighty bronze-rider, and all that."

Arryn smiled and thought in relief that he looked much better—still pale and a bit unsteady on his feet, with dark shadows under his eyes, but his characteristic glimmer of mischief and eagerness for life had returned. She supposed he'd just been hit hard emotionally by the queen's death….then again, they all had been hit hard.

"So where exactly are we going?" she asked, following K'lin toward the door.

"To the Hatching Grounds, where else?" he replied with a hint of incredulity. "It's been what, almost a sevenday since Maventh's flight? Or is she just as clueless as you?" he said, only half-teasing.

With a frown, Arryn reached out to Maventh. _Mav, where are you, dearest? Are you at the Hatching Grounds?  
No, _replied Maventh calmly. _I'm hunting. I'm _hungry._ I'm going to the Hatching Grounds tomorrow. I think,_ the green dragon added.

"She says she's not ready to go there yet," Arryn informed K'lin. "Tomorrow, she says."

"Well, at least _someone_ around here knows what's going on,"K'lin muttered as he opened the door. He nodded regally to the speechless Ulin as he walked past. Arryn looked at the healer and gave a shrug, as if to say, _Bronze-riders. What can you do? _

_ xXx_

The thirty or so riders gathered in the meeting room looked apprehensively at each other, murmuring amongst themselves as they awaited the Wingleader (and would-be Weyrleader) who had called them here. Rumors had spread like wildfire after the queen's tragic end and the Weyrwoman's death three days ago.. Some thought that Benden would be dispersed, its riders distributed among the other weyrs in a great diaspora. There were other, less coherent theories as well, most propagated by rather grim-minded older riders.

"Thought I'd seen it all," said a grizzled blue-rider, shaking his greying head ruefully at the turn of events in his weyr.

"Irresponsible youngsters," agreed a brown-rider with a scar carved across one eye.

R'sen, Lira and Sh'len had been called to the meeting. They formed an unhappy pod near the back of the room. H'rath, too, was there, but due to his seniority he was farther up in the throng of riders, nearer to the front of the room.

"Don't know why we're here," muttered R'sen. "Rilith's getting a bit edgy of late."

"She's probably due to rise soon, you dunce," said Lira with a roll of her eyes. Her words came out a bit sharper than she intended. They were _all_ edgy.

"All right."

A hush fell over the room as K'lin's voice rang out from the front. He stepped up onto a chair. It was unorthodox, but they could all see him, even the young ones in the back. "I have called you here because I have a very important assignment for all of you."

The gathered riders gazed up at him silently, some with suspicion, most with traces of apprehension and anxiety stamped upon their brows.

"You are all going on Search for Benden Weyr."

There was a taut moment of stunned quiet after K'lin's announcement. Then pandemonium broke loose. Most of the riders were of the opinion that it was a cruel joke,and others, especially Lira, looked close to tears at the deep irony—their queen had just died without clutching, and here they were being told they were going on Search? It was _impossible!_

K'lin waited patiently for the chaos to die down, holding up one hand for silence. After many minutes passed, he finally cleared his throat and spoke again. "You are all going on Search for Benden Weyr, because there is a clutch that is even now being laid on the Hatching Grounds."

"By who?" called out one rider incredulously. "We haven't a queen, if you didn't notice!"

K'lin winced at the rider's stinging words but he refused to back down. "By one of the dragons who, it was thought, was not capable of producing eggs. But we were apparently mistaken."

"A green?" laughed another rider derisively. "You're going to tell us that a green is clutching!"

A few other riders joined in the laughter. But K'lin looked over their heads and saw the younger riders in the back of the room, staring wide-eyed at him and then glancing at each other, whispering.

"If you remember," continued K'lin, "the last clutch did not yield a queen egg. However, there was a young green who, when she hatched, displayed gold markings that faded over time."

"Maventh," whispered Lira.

"This young green is most remarkable in her size," said K'lin to the riders who were now regarding him with a guarded disbelief. "She was recently flown by bronze Ereth, and two days ago she retired to the Hatching Grounds."

"Impossible," breathed a brown-rider.

"That is what I thought as well," agreed K'lin. "But if you must see for yourself, then do so. Green Maventh has, thus far, produced five healthy-sized eggs." He braced himself, a glint in his eye. "The first of which was a golden egg."

A collective gasp resounded through the room.

"Your dragons have been identified as those especially sensitive to good candidates," he said, a hint of a smile turning up his lips at the sight of the dumbfounded riders. "So I ask you to do your duty by your weyr and go on Search. Any questions?"

A single hand was raised, in the back. K'lin nodded at the rider.

"Since her dragon has succeeded in producing a queen…does this mean that Maventh's rider is now…Weyrwoman?" Lira asked breathlessly, her eyes sparkling.

K'lin held up a hand once more as a buzz began rising from the riders. "There are no rules that govern this situation," he said quietly. "But, as we have no Weyrwoman, and are in need of one, the answer….is yes."

A murmur swept through the riders, but no-one raised their voice in protest.

"In the end, the dragons know what is best," said K'lin. "We shall see what time brings. Dismissed."


	26. Chapter 26

**Well, I said it was the end once before, and I lied. But I'm saying it again now, and I'm not lying, for two reasons: one, I leave for Japan tomorrow, and two, I'm really quite enamored with the way this came out. I really like it. So without further ado, I hope you enjoy the ending of this lovely tale--and, as always, I welcome any reviews!**

**Arwen, over and out!**

The hot sands of Benden Weyr's Hatching Grounds scalded Arryn's feet as she made her way toward her dragon, her eyes sparkling as she counted the eggs. There were seven now, their shells gleaming in the heat. Maventh turned to her, one wing spread protectively over the eighth wondrous egg, the egg glittering golden against the sand. Arryn stopped and gazed up at her dragon wondrously. _How did you do it, Maventh? _she asked.

_I am merely doing what needs to be done, _replied Maventh. She nudged one of the eggs, turning it gently. Then she looked at Arryn with eyes whirling gently in concern. _You are not angry with me, are you? _

_ Why would I be angry with you? _Arryn blinked in surprise.

_Because I kept it from you. I was not sure, at first. I was confused, _Maventh admitted.

_Believe me, I was confused as well, _replied Arryn with a grin. _May I touch them? _

_ You are my rider. Of course you can touch them. _Maventh huffed and bunted Arryn in the chest. After rubbing her dragon's eyeridge lovingly, Arryn turned to the nearest egg. It was as tall as her leg from heel to knee. She placed one hand tentatively along the curve of its shell. It was warm and solid and promising.

_You're magnificent, Mav. Really special, you know. You're the first green to ever…to ever do this._

_I know. _Maventh seemed unperturbed by her rider's statement.

_I still don't understand how, _mused Arryn. _I thought greens—no offense, love, but they've always told us that greens are sterile. _

_ Well, obviously they're wrong, _commented Maventh, pulling the precious queen egg closer to her side.

_I'm just stating a fact. Or what they thought was a fact, _amended Arryn. _According to G'let, the weyr historian, the first greens were _created_ that way. Apparantly they were genetically incapable of bearing eggs. _

_ What does _ge-net-ickly_ mean? _questioned Maventh with an air of innocence.

_Burn me, I don't know, only G'let seemed to think it was pretty irreversible, _replied Arryn with a shrug. She moved over to stand in front of another egg, inspecting the markings swirled across its shell.

_We have come a long way since our beginnings,_ said Maventh.

_I'll say, _agreed Arryn, touching a delicate whorl of color on the egg's side.

Maventh cocked her head, considering. _It was not so hard, after I had gotten past the part of me that told me I could not do this. _

Arryn frowned. _Mav, you're not making any sense. _

_ I am big enough. I am strong enough. It was like diving through a pocket of Thread—I simply had to find the right path, _explained the green dragon, crooning deep in her throat as she rearranged a few eggs.

_You _are_ remarkable, _said Arryn wonderingly, stroking her dragon's neck. _How many more, do you think? _she asked speculatively.

_Not many. Even though I am big, I am not as large as a queen, _reasoned Maventh.

_But you've given Benden one, _said Arryn, looking at the golden egg and feeling a rush of pride and love and awe. Her dragon, her Maventh, had saved the future of Benden, given back hope to the riders who thought it lost, and thrown into chaos the very orderly rules that had governed dragonkind until her hatching.

_So how do you like being a mother? _continued Arryn, her voice taking on a teasing tone.

_It's rather boring and tiresome, being stuck here all the time, _confessed Maventh. _But I suppose it's worth it. _

_ You bet your pretty little tail it's worth it!_ Arryn laughed and gave Maventh's nose a playful tap.

_Hmph. Go away and let me concentrate. I'd rather finish quickly, and you distract me. _

_ Fine, _said Arryn with a grin. _You get back to egg-laying, you little green wonder you. _

Maventh harrumphed at Arryn again as she turned and exited the Hatching Grounds, sighing in relief as she felt the cool air of the weyr's lower caverns upon her face.

"Arryn! There you are!" It was K'lin, grinning from ear to ear. "Come on, I have something to show you."

"What—all right, all right, I'm coming!" said Arryn as Lira and Sh'len materialized out of nowhere and latched onto her arms, dragging her after them. They took her to an empty room in the lower caverns.

"What's this all about?" demanded Arryn as Sh'len let go of her arm to rap a cryptical rhythm on the door.

"Secret code," he said with a grin at Arryn's questioning glance.

The door opened and Lira pulled her inside. It was pitch-black.

"What the—shards!" Arryn shielded her eyes at the burst of light. Green Mira and Hint chirruped in self-satisfaction; they'd blinked into the room with a bright lantern held up between them, suspended on a length of rope. Arryn gasped.

It wasn't an empty room. It was an unused meeting hall, and crammed into it were riders. A lot of riders. It seemed that nearly all of Benden was there. Arryn felt herself blush in front of all their sharp gazes, and she turned, scrambling for the door, but Sh'len caught her and held her shoulders fast, rooting her to the spot.

She found herself standing on a small raised platform that had obviously been constructed specifically for the occasion. T'ran was standing off to her right, a small smile lighting his face. He was dressed in a very fine tunic; it was a silvery grey that brought out his eyes, and the full sleeves were slashed artfully to show hints of the deep blue undertunic. Arryn felt very grubby, in her favorite trousers and a shirt stained with sweat and sand. Her hair, too, had frizzed uncontrollably, as it always did when she visited the Hatching Grounds, becoming a nimbus of rebellious curls.

"I'm not dressed for the occasion," she whispered very quietly to Lira, who only grinned.

"Don't worry. We've taken care of that," she said. Arryn noticed that her friend was holding something—a rather large something—beneath a cloth.

"What's that?" she asked, eyeing the blue-rider suspiciously. Lira didn't have the chance to answer her as K'lin stepped forward and addressed the crowd.

"Riders of Benden," he called out, "how do you find your Weyrwoman?"

A collective roar of approval rose from the throats of the gathered riders. Arryn flushed in pleasure and disbelief, wanting to laugh and cry and run away all at the same time. Sh'len squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. It was overwhelming, looking out at the shining faces raised to her, the hopeful eyes and confident smiles. The cheer went on and on, and the ground shook as the dragons outside added their voices in great bellows.

"Only a few days ago this was a weyr on the edge of self-destruction," said K'lin, only loud enough for Arryn to hear. "You deserve this."

With a flourish, Lira uncovered the object held in her grasp. It was a beautifully tailored riding vest, the seams stitched in gold thread. A master leather-worker had embellished the front and sides of the vest with a beautiful pattern, wrought all in green, that reminded Arryn of spring leaves and the reflections of dragons' gleaming hides in the lake and sunlight playing across Maventh's wings, all at once. And on the shoulders of the vest, there were the knots of a green-rider—but they were different, she realized. Instead of just the double green knot, there was now a knot of gold behind the green. As if that weren't enough, on the left side of the vest, over the heart, there was a delicately embroidered emblem: a green dragon set upon a field of gold, circled about with Benden's colors.

"We had to come up with a new knot for you," grinned Lira. "Here, put it on."

"But—I'm dirty!" protested Arryn.

"It's meant to be worn. It's not as delicate as it looks," said K'lin, smiling. With a doubtful look Arryn consented and let Lira slip the vest on. She laced it up, unable to deny that it fit wonderfully, the leather light and well-worked.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, touching the shoulder-knots with one finger. Then she became aware of all the riders—the audience, she supposed, to this little drama. She stood up straighter. "Um. Do they expect a speech?" she whispered to K'lin. He shrugged good-naturedly and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Should the Weyrwoman make a speech?"

His answer was met by another rowdy cheer from the riders, many of whom were nursing mugs of wine or ale.

"Shards," muttered Arryn. "Thanks, K'lin." She took a deep breath. "Well," she began. "I don't really know where to start."

"From the beginning!" called out a familiar voice—P'tar. He grinned at her from the front row.

"Ah. I guess that would be a good place," she agreed amongst the chuckles. "The beginning. I suppose that would be when Maventh chose me." Her eyes shone fondly at the memory. "I'm sure most of you felt the same as I did, just after Impression—wondrous and awed and wholly unworthy, despite every insistence of the hatchling." She smiled. "I feel much the same way now. Maventh is a truly remarkable dragon. In her words, she is 'merely doing what needs to be done.' She says we have come far from our beginnings. I agree."

"I think it is time to rekindle the fellowship between dragon-riders and fellow weyrs," she continued to her rapt audience. "A change is coming—it is already here, in truth; with this, the acceptance of a green-rider Weyrwoman, Benden has marked itself forever as the weyr to recognize the remarkable abilities of those once thought ordinary." She paused. "Benden is the first to recognize that a dragon's color does not necessarily dictate their role in life."

A murmur of approval rose from the room.

"I am humbled and honored by your acceptance of me," she said huskily, emotion welling up and threatening to close her throat. "I know that there will be those who oppose my position in this weyr. I know that there are probably those here tonight who do not approve. But I promise you that I—and Maventh—will strive to fulfill our duties to the best of our ability, and to uphold the standard of excellence that Benden has set for the rest of Pern."

A hearty agreement echoed from the rafters as the riders raised their glasses to her last words. She grinned happily. "All right! I expect you've got a grand feast planned—" she glanced at K'lin, who looked away innocently—" so I'll let you get to it!"

"Who wants to fetch Green-rider Arryn her first drink as Weyrwoman?" called out K'lin, winking at her roguishly. She rolled her eyes and laughed as a dozen volunteers shot toward the barrels of spirits.

"So that's settled," said Lira in satisfaction, walking with Arryn off the little platform into the crowd. Arryn could barely hear her friend above the clamor of riders congratulating her and clapping her on the back. She glanced over her shoulder and found T'ran amidst the sea of faces. He made his way to her side.

"Well-met, Weyrleader," she teased, linking her arm through his. He winced at the title. "Bet you're regretting your choice of weyrmate now," she grinned, her question only half-teasing. T'ran looked down at her seriously, then smiled.

"Not on your life, Weyrwoman," he said, kissing her soundly. A chorus of cheers and hoots rose around them and he drew back, grinning.

"Great feast, eh?" grinned Sh'len, handing a cup of wine to T'ran.

"Why don't I get any wine?" said Arryn.

"Because you've got ten admirers all making their way back here with wine for you," replied Sh'len.

"But you're not allowed to have any," said P'tar, toasting her with his cup. He slung an arm about her shoulders and winked at T'ran over Arryn's protest. "You're the Weyrwoman, after all. Can't have you making a spectacle and kissing all the dashing riders, now, can we? Oy! Gerroff!"

Arryn watched in amusement as Lira frogmarched P'tar away.

"We're going on Search day after tomorrow," Sh'len informed her.

"Who?"

"Lira and R'sen and H'rath and I," said Sh'len. He smiled. "Got to find some good little candidates for your Maventh's hatchlings, don't we?"

"Better make sure they're up to par," contributed T'ran.

"Otherwise I suspect the old greenie will tear them apart," said Lira seriously, brushing her hands off as she returned from escorting P'tar from the vicinity.

"Meanie greenie," giggled R'sen, toasting Arryn with his dangerously tilted glass. Lira hopped aside to avoid the splash of wine that followed the green-rider's toast. She gingerly took R'sen's glass from him with a look of comic disgust.

Arryn found herself suddenly surrounded by five riders who were all offering her a drink. She closed her eyes and picked one. The brown-rider threw up his hands in triumph and the others wandered away with looks of vague disappointment. Arryn couldn't help but smile. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "this is really the biggest change the weyr has ever seen, isn't it?"

"Like you said, these are changing times," agreed Sh'len.

"A change in the times," mused Arryn.

"No. More like a change in the stars," contributed Lira.

"That's a stupid name for the beginning of a new era." Arryn wrinkled her nose as she took a sip of wine.

"Actually, it's quite brilliant," said Lira smugly. "You see, as Pern travels in space, she tilts ever so slightly." She demonstrated with her wine-glass until Sh'len righted it. "The stars aren't the same as they were when dragon-kind was first born, and the unwritten laws set into motion. So therefore, as dragons have changed over the years, the stars have changed. Just as Maventh is totally different than anything they could have imagined back then, the stars are totally different too."

"All hoity-toity science-talk, are we?" grinned Sh'len.

"Pf," was Lira's dignified reply. "Better than you could do."

"Can we stop talking philosophy? It's hurting my head," complained Arryn.

"As you say, O Weyrwoman." Lira bowed, only to be pinched by the ever-so-dignified Weyrwoman. "Ouch. Maybe the wine is hurting your head. Ever think of that?"

Arryn smiled. She was truly happy, here with her dearest friends and a cause for celebration. The future was a bit scary—it intimidated her to be placed in such a high position, with such high expectations—but she was sure they could get through it together.

Lira raised her glass. "Here's to Weyrwoman Arryn, fighting green-rider, beginning of a new era."

The others raised their glasses.

"No," Arryn said as she raised her glass. She looked at the three of them and smiled. "Here's to the first day of the rest of our lives."

"I'll drink to that," T'ran said.

With a grin the four raised their glasses and drank to their friendship, to their dragons, to their new Weyrwoman—and to the future of Benden Weyr, a future that looked bright thanks to a misfit dragon and her determined rider, a dragon who proved to the weyr and to the world that she was much more than simply 'just a green.'

**_Fin_ **


End file.
